Truth Doesn't Make A Noise
by BrainySmurf6
Summary: Finally together, Booth and Brennan are happier than they've ever been.  When unforeseen events force them to prove just how far they will go to protect each other, the results could be the one thing that tears them apart.
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: So here we are again, guys! The new story I promised. The prologue doesn't need much set up, so I won't ramble on too much here. Just want to immediately thank my beta Biba (biba79 on here) for helping me develop this idea...after Beauty and the Tragedy I had no idea what to write next and ended up doing nothing for months. But as soon as All That You Can't Leave Behind started to wind down, she started talking through other potential stories with me, and is a huge part of why this one is happening so soon...we both got really excited about it and couldn't wait! _

_Thanks to all my readers who have followed me here...and to new ones...hope I don't disappoint! Let me know what you think! _

_Without further ado...  
_

Truth Doesn't Make a Noise

_Prologue_

Booth and Brennan had made love eleven times before he brought it up.

They were lying in her bed, after, legs entangled beneath the sheets, Brennan stretched out on her chest as Booth lazily trailed his fingers down her spine.

Leaning over her, his lips against her ear, Booth murmured, "What's this?"

Brennan rolled over, her lips curving into a smile as she looked up at him. "You tell me. You should know by now."

Grinning, Booth twisted a strand of her hair around his finger, considering. "You're right."

Leaning his weight on his forearm, Booth lowered his head, rounding his lips against the soft skin along her collarbone. "Clavicle," he hummed against her skin, raising his eyes. "Right?"

"Mmm-hmmm." Brennan's eyes were closed, her fingers threading absently through his hair.

Lifting his head slightly, Booth brushed his lips against hers, then dipping down slightly to nuzzle her jaw. "Mandible?"

She didn't answer, just smiled.

Booth traced his fingers down the center of her chest. "Sternum." He slid his hand over, splaying his fingers over the curve of her hip. "The, um, illll…."

"Ilium," she reminded him.

"Right, yeah. Almost had it." Grinning, he dropped his head onto the pillow beside Brennan, not moving his hand. "You know what I like about this, Bones?"

"About what?" She asked, forehead wrinkling in confusion."My ilium?"

"Nah," he said laughingly. "Though there's plenty I like about your, uh, ilium, too. I meant…" He wiggled a finger vaguely between the two of them. "This. You and me."

At that, Brennan smirked. "I would imagine you like a lot of aspects of that."

"Got me there, Bones," he said affectionately. "But one thing I like is that even though it's kind of like starting on the three hundredth date…we're still learning new things about each other."

She raised an eyebrow, wary. "Such as?"

"Such as…." He slid his hand slightly higher on Brennan's hip, moving his thumb in slow circles against the skin. "…we've been partners for over six years, Bones, and I never knew about your tattoo."

Instantly, Brennan froze, stiffening beneath Booth's touch. He lifted himself up on an elbow, eyes moving to the dolphin silhouette tattooed on Brennan's hip. "Would never have guessed."

Brennan covered his hand with hers, hooking her fingers around his and suddenly moving Booth's grip off of her.

He looked down at her, confusion gripping him at the discomfort etched in Brennan's expression. "Hey, Bones, I think it's sexy," he told her in a low voice. "Just unexpected."

Brennan looked up at him, their gazes locked, her blue eyes wide and conflicted. Finally, after a long silence, she stated quietly, "I got it in college…it was stupid."

Booth eyebrows drew together, sensing more to the story.

Finally, Brennan sighed quietly and reclaimed Booth's hand, gently returning it to her hip, guiding his fingers against the tattoo. "You feel that?"

Frowning, Booth nodded, his fingers touching a tiny patch of rough, puckered skin.

"And that?" Brennan moved his finger over barely an inch, to a similar area.

Lifting his hand, Booth stared down at the tattoo, which made the abnormalities unnoticeable without touch. Then, he glanced back at Brennan, eyes softening as he met hers. "What happened, Bones?"

"Cigarette burn," she told him, attempting an offhanded voice, though she wasn't meeting Booth's eyes anymore. "One of my foster fathers, he…anyway, it wasn't that bad, but there was a boy in college he…he asked about them." She shrugged, uncomfortable. "I made an impulsive decision."

When she dragged her eyes back to meet Booth, she found his had darkened, the muscles in his face tight. "Your foster father did that to you?"

"He…did it to all of us, Booth. He liked to knock us around sometimes, but…I was only with them for eight months." She paused, then hesitantly added, "He was the one who locked me in the trunk of a car."

Booth closed his eyes briefly, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Through clenched teeth, he asked, "What's his name?"

Brennan gave him a small smile, reaching up and touching his cheek. "He went to jail, Booth, so you don't have to kill him."

Slowly Booth's face relaxed, the calming tone of Brennan's voice taming his instinctive rage. "I just….I hate that anyone ever hurt you like that, Bones." He managed a smile down at her, reaching down and gently stroking her hair.

"I know. But this….it was a long time ago," she told him soothingly.

Booth was quiet for a moment, his eyes darting unconsciously back to the tattoo, considering the location, unease gripping him. "Bones, that…that foster father….knocking you around, the burns, is that…" He swallowed. "Is that _all_ he did?"

"There was the car trunk thing…"

"Right, so….nothing…._else_."

Brennan paused, forcing herself not to look away. "Nothing else."

He exhaled slowly, tension ebbing. "Okay." Booth paused, "And he's still in jail?"

"Yes," she assured him patiently. Then, tentatively, Brennan added, "He wrote me once, from prison. Twelve or so years ago, he was…going through AA, making amends."

"Nice of him," Booth muttered sarcastically, anger surging again. "You still have that letter?"

Brennan narrowed her eyes. "I….yes, why?"

"Just…" Booth looked at her, his expression earnest.

Slowly, with a sigh, Brennan nodded, rolling out of the bed and pulling a robe around her as she walked to her closet.

She bent down, dragging a large shoebox toward her from the back corner of the small space.

At the top of the box as a single red Converse All Star, the last names of her foster families scribbled on the bottom. She moved it out of the way and flipped quickly through piles of papers before the extracting the correct envelope, scanning the letter inside before carrying it back toward the bed.

She fell onto the bed and silently handed it over to Booth.

He scanned it with a clenched jaw. In some ways, it read like a form letter, apologies and regrets with no specifics. But sentences jumped out at him, phrases like _You know I would never want to hurt you, Temperance _or _I don't need to tell you how much I care about you_ that made Booth feel sick.

For several long moments, he stared at the signature of the letter.

_Can't wait until I'm seeing you again, Sean_

Finally, he lifted his gaze from the letter to look at Bones, who was watching him cautiously. Seeing the look on his face, Brennan gently tugged the piece of paper away from him. "It was a long time ago," she reminded him softly, wrapping a hand around his neck, gently making him look at her. "It's really alright."

Nodding, Booth wordlessly reached out and wrapped his arms around Brennan, pulling her close so she was lying against his chest. After a long moment, he told her, "I know. Just…you never talk about this stuff, Bones."

Brennan frowned, considering . "I suppose I don't see any benefit in bringing up the past." She paused, and then her voice softened as she admitted, "And generally I…I just want to forget it happened, as illogical as that sounds. Like you with your dad."

He nodded slowly. "I get that." Booth curled a finger under Brennan's chin, tilting her head so he could look at her, then kissed her softly, lips lingering for a moment before adding, "But you can tell me anything, Bones. Okay? I mean it."

"I know," she said softly. "Thank you." She kissed him again, reassuringly, then stood up, heading back to the closet with the letter.

Brennan bent down, pulling the box toward her, and tucked the letter alongside the dozens of other letters Sean Lowell had sent her over the years.

Storing it back in the dark corner of her closet, Brennan covered the box that held so many remnants of her past, the past she still wasn't sure she wanted Booth to see.

~(B*B)~

_A/N: So. Much more vague and ambiguous than my previous prologues/first chapters, huh? But I hope it's intriguing. The bulk of the story takes place several months after this, when Booth and Brennan have been in an established relationship for around six months. Because I'm STILL trying to be an optimist, I'm placing it late season seven, early season eight at the latest. Obviously, this is my first story with Booth and Brennan in a relationship from the beginning, so I'm pretty excited about it._

_Review away! Nothing gets me more excited to post the next chapter than hearing what you guys think (ah the return of my shameless hints. Miss me?) _


	2. Fall Away

_A/N: Hey, guys! Fantastic response on the first chapter! So glad you guys were intrigued, and that you're reading! Sorry this took a little longer than I hoped…it's a long chapter, which hopefully makes up for it. _

_Oh, also…this is __**not a sequel **__to All That You Can't Leave Behind. Even though Booth and Brennan do not start in a relationship. It probably wouldn't hurt anything if you choose to think of it as a sequel…but none of those events affect these. I tend not to do sequels simply because I put Booth and Bren through so much in the course of a fic…I want to end it and hope they're just happy. Not pick back and put them through still MORE angst haha._

_Not much else to say…song is "Fall Away" by the Fray._

Chapter One

_Fall Away_

_You swear you recall nothing at all  
That could make you come back down  
You made up your mind to leave it all behind  
Now you're forced to fight it out_

_You fall away from your past  
But it's following you_

"Booth?" Impatient, Brennan pounded on the door of the bathroom.

Smiling to himself, Booth tilted his head under the hot spray of the shower and yelled over the sound of the shower, "It's open, Bones!"

She was inside the bathroom within seconds, barely giving her partner and boyfriend a glance, eyes sweeping the floor.

"Lookin' for something, Bones?" Booth asked dryly.

"Have you seen my boots?" She asked him distractedly.

"What, like rain boots? It's sunny outside."

"What?" Brennan gave him a strange look. "No, my leather boots. I'm already late for work, and I can't find _any_ shoes…"

"Can't help you there, babe." He nudged open the shower door with his foot. "You're all stressed, Bones…want to jump in?"

For a moment, the tension fell from her face and Brennan looked at him, her lips curving into a tiny smirk as she considered. Then, abruptly, the smile dropped and she scowled at Booth as though it was all his fault for distracting her. "I _can't_, Booth, I'm already late and I have no shoes."

Shooting her a look of exaggerated disappointment, Booth pulled the shower door closed "They're probably back at my place, Bones. Your shoes are everywhere, they're like…taking over my floor."

He turned off the shower and Brennan tossed him a towel without missing a beat. "You're one to talk, there are two drawers here just for your socks."

Booth grinned, stepping out and brushing his lips against Brennan, angling away to avoid dripping on her. "You love my socks."

"True." She sighed, resigned. "Doesn't help me with shoes for today, though."

Shrugging sympathetically, Booth walked past her, leaving the bathroom. He paused suddenly in the doorway, turning toward Brennan. "Oh, hey, you know what _might_ help with that, though?" Brennan glanced over at him expectantly. "We should move in together." Booth smiled, nodding to himself. "Yeah, I think that'd be good."

Then, grinning, he closed the door to the bathroom, leaving Brennan gaping after him.

~(B*B)~

Later that day, Booth was walking into Brennan's office of the Jeffersonian. He sat in the chair across from Brennan's, smiling at her and nudging his foot against hers under the desk.

"I see you found shoes."

Rolling her eyes, Brennan crossed her arms. "It's not amusing, Booth, I had to change clothes."

"I noticed." He eyed her fondly, watching Brennan clearing off her desk and closing files for a long moment. "I guess you'd just need to…have doubles of everything."

Brennan paused momentarily, frowning at him. "That's a highly impractical suggestion, Booth."

"Yeah, I guess it is." Booth paused, grinning slyly, then added casually, "Then I guess you'll just have to think about my other suggestion."

"That we…live together?" She asked the question tentatively, as though trying out the sound of the words.

Nodding, Booth stood up, grabbing Brennan's coat from the rack by the door and gesturing for her to follow him. "We can talk about it at lunch. C'mon, Bones, I'm starving!"

~(B*B)~

Half an hour later, Booth was smiling indulgently at her from across the table at the diner. "I knew you'd say that."

Brennan arched her eyebrow in his direction, absently grabbing a few fries from Booth's plate. "You knew I'd say which thing?"

"All of it!" He insisted. "The lease, you wanting the independence because of some anthropological crap I don't understand. Some _blah blah blah_ about it being impractical for Parker."

"It would be," Brennan reiterated. "My apartment is obviously more practical due to size, but Parker is already attached to his bedroom at your apartment-"

"It's a room he stays in every other weekend, Bones. He'll adjust."

Brennan paused, then, buying time, asked, "You claim you knew how I would respond. So why even ask?"

Again, Booth merely smiled. "Because I wanted to bring it up casually to give you time to freak out. But you're going to say yes eventually."

In spite of herself, Brennan felt her lips curling into a smile, and she glanced away from his sparkling brown eyes, attempting to suppress it. "Oh, really?"

"Oh, yeah." Booth gave her a maddeningly self-satisfied smile. "Probably sooner than later. You can't argue with the logic, Bones. It's been over a month since we spent even a night apart. Our stuff is split evenly between the two places." He leaned forward, eyes dancing with mirth. "_It just isn't rational_."

At some point during the conversation, Booth had picked up her hand on the table, and was absently tracing his fingers over every line in her palm with one hand, while the other linked the fingers together.

Brennan stared at their joined hands for a moment, a not unwelcome flutter in her chest as she considered. "Maybe…" she began quietly, the words coming slowly. "We could find a new place?" Suddenly it was a question, and she kept her eyes on their hands, not meeting Booth's eyes. "One that's just ours?"

When Brennan finally lifted her hand, Booth was beaming at her, his eyes shining. "Just ours sounds perfect, Bones."

Then he was swapping sides of the booth, sliding in beside her and nearly pressing her against the wall of the diner as he kissed her, smiling against Brennan's lips as he did.

She responded easily for a long, leisurely moment before laughingly leaning back. "You said you hate when couples do this."

"What?" Booth asked with a grin. "Too much PDA or sitting on the same side of a booth when there's no one else?"

"Both," Brennan reminded him in a low voice.

"Oh, well. Worth it." He kissed her again, softly, before moving back to his side of the booth, grin still in place. "Oh, wait, there was one more thing I had to say…what was that? Oh, right?" He smirked. "I knew you'd agree…_told you so_."

He was still laughing when a balled up napkin hit him squarely in the nose.

~(B*B)~

When Brennan returned to her apartment, she found the table set, complete with candles and wine, while Booth moved around in the kitchen.

Brennan paused in the doorway for a moment before Booth saw her, a soft smile on her face as she watched him, whistling to himself as he cooked.

Booth turned toward the stove, and Brennan moved quietly into the kitchen behind him and slid her arms around his waist. "Hi."

He twisted, face lighting up as he looked at her. "Hey, yourself."

"Food smells good," Brennan murmured just before Booth kissed her slowly.

When he gently pulled back, he was smiling. "I figured we should celebrate." He shuffled slightly to the side, waving at the food on the stove. "Vegetarian lasagna."

"Sounds perfect," she told him, smiling. She started to say something else, when the phone rang, cutting her off. "I got it."

Booth turned back to the food while Brennan moved toward the phone. "Brennan."

There was silence.

"Hello?" Booth turned around, catching her eye with a questioning look. "Hel_lo_?"

Then, there was an audible click.

Brennan replaced the phone on its receiver, shrugging at Booth. "Just a hang up."

"Good thing," Booth commented, moving around the table, carrying the pan of lasagna in his oven mitted hands. "Cause we're ready to eat."

Brennan started toward the kitchen to grab a salad bowl, but Booth, setting down the lasagna, gently grabbed her arm to stop her. "No, you sit down, Bones. I got this."

Rolling her eyes, Brennan obliged, sitting at the table and watching affectionately as Booth ran back and forth from the kitchen before finally sitting down beside her and filling her wine glass, then his own.

With a relaxed sigh, Booth looked at her, his brown eyes soft as he met Brennan's. Lifting his wine glass, he smiled sweetly. "To us, Bones. To…" Booth paused, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his smile widened. "To this next step."

She touched her glass to his before lifting it to her lips. She'd barely pulled the glass away before Booth was leaning close, encasing her lips in his.

~(B*B)~

"You do realize we're bringing my television to the new place." Booth murmured, close to Brennan's ear.

"I assumed you wouldn't be able to function without your ESPM," Brennan replied. They were lying on the couch, Brennan against Booth's chest, his arms encircling her.

"ESP_N_, Bones," he corrected her. Brennan smiled, feeling the deep hum of Booth's laughter in his chest.

"Hey…." He lifted her chin with one finger, and Brennan shifted slightly, craning her neck to meet his eyes. Booth smiled down at her, one thumb gently stroking her cheekbone. "You know how much I love you, Bones?"

Immediately, Brennan's eyes lit up, a smile slowly unfurling. They'd been together six months, and every time he said those words, there was still the flash of surprise and gratitude in Brennan's eyes, a combination that always broke Booth's heart a little.

"I love you, too," she answered quietly.

Booth smiled. "I know." His lips had barely grazed hers when the phone rang, piercing through the quiet. Booth groaned, "Perfect timing."

The cordless phone was sitting on the coffee table next to the couch, and Brennan reached over Booth's shoulder to grab it. "Hello?"

Again, there was silence. Brennan listened closely, barely detecting the faint sound of breathing. "Hel_lo?"_

Another click, followed shortly by a dial tone.

"Strange," Brennan muttered.

"What'd the ID say?"

"Out of area."

Booth plucked the phone from her hand and replaced on the table, a wolfish grin splitting his features. "Now where were we?"

He shifted, moving out from under Brennan so she was lying on the couch, Booth leaning on his forearm and bending over her.

After a minute or so, Booth murmured against her lips, pausing every few words to kiss her again. "Maybe the new place…could just be….one giant bed…carpeted with mattresses…nothing but soft…perfect…surfaces…"

Brennan frowned, suddenly pulling away to stare up at Booth with a perplexed. "You're joking, right? Because I don't see the practicality of-"

The phone rang again. Booth set his jaw. "For the love of God…" He reached over grabbing at it. "_What?"_

This time the click was instant.

Booth shook his head, hitting the 'end call' button almost violently. "Now I am going to take the batteries out of this," he told her, doing so as he said it. "And then I'm going to _show_ you the practicality of an apartment that's basically a giant bed."

~(B*B)~

Booth had a meeting at the Hoover the next morning, so he was gone by the time Brennan woke up the next morning. She was on her way to the lab when she got a text: "Got a case…be there to get you in ten."

For some reason, Angela and Cam were smirking at Brennan when she arrived at the Jeffersonian the next morning.

"_Someone _had a good night last night," Angela teased her, a knowing expression in her eyes.

Already aware of the heat rising to her cheeks, Brennan protested, "I'm only two minutes late."

Cam smiled. "There are flowers in your office, delivered a little bit ago."

"Yes, and can we leave them in view for as long as possible? Send a message to Hodgins on keeping the spark alive."

Brennan smiled slightly. She thought, briefly, of telling them the news, that she and Booth were looking for a place; Angela in particular had been asking for months when they would be 'making it official'.

But Booth was on his way by now, and Brennan knew Angela well enough to know she would require a good five minutes of squealing and congratulations…and Booth would be there any second.

"Did I hear my name?" Hodgins asked, coming toward them from the platform and kissing his wife on the cheek.

"Booth sent Bren flowers," Angela informed him, arching an eyebrow at him. "I thought you should take _notes_." She hit him playfully in the chest, and Hodgins adopted a mock offended expression.

"I send you flowers."

"Please, the last time I had flowers from you was in the delivery room. Your daughter's eight months old, so what does that tell you?"

Brennan turned her attention to Cam. "Booth says we have a case. He's on his way."

Her boss nodded in affirmation, and soon Brennan was heading to her office.

She slowed slightly as she entered, eyes falling on the bouquet of flowers sitting on her desk. It was an assorted, colorful variety of flowers, unusual for Booth, who was pretty consistent with daffodils, her favorite.

Still, Brennan smiled as she reached between the flowers, pulling out the card nestled among them.

Instantly, though, her smile dropped, her throat narrowing with fear.

Typed in the center of the card, with no signature, was a familiar phrase.

_Can't wait until I'm seeing you again._

The card slipped from Brennan's hand, her heart suddenly thumping heavily in her chest. She took a quick step back from the flowers, staring at them for a dizzying moment before violently sweeping them off her desk and into the trash can.

She ran her hands through her hair, and only the sensation of physically touching something made her realize she was shaking.

Drawing a breath, curling her hands into tight fists, Brennan forced herself to think logically.

While it was not certain, it was statistically unlikely that she was wrong about who sent them. That phrase had ended every letter he'd ever sent her from jail.

But so what? Who was to say he couldn't have managed to orchestrate something this simple from prison? A simple phone call to someone on the outside…

At this thought, though, Brennan thought of the three phone calls from last night, the quiet breathing on the other end of the line. And with that thought, she realized why this worried her.

He'd spent the better part of two decades in jail, and all she'd ever gotten were letters. Something had changed.

Within seconds she was on her computer, looking up the number for the correct prosecutor's office.

~(B*B)~

"Yes."

The answer, though Brennan had honestly known, in the same way Booth claimed to 'know' things without proof, prompted a sharp intake of breath, and Brennan had to grip the edge of her desk with one hand to steady herself.

The woman on the phone continued, "His parole hearing was last week…he's a free man."

"But, um…but I don't understand. I don't, uh…" Brennan clamped her lips together; she sounded like an inarticulate idiot. Forcing her voice to remain even, Brennan started again, "It was my understanding that he had another two years on his sentence…"

"Yes," the prosecutor explained patiently. "But that's how parole works…he's out on good behavior. Apparently he was a _model prisoner_."

Brennan made an involuntary, breathy sound of incredulity. She closed her eyes for a moment, her usual instinctive, rationalization not coming to her.

"I'm sorry, Temperance," the prosecutor said sympathetically when the silence had stretched on for too long. "If it was up to me, he'd be locked up forever."

Instantly, Brennan snapped back into control. She recognized that voice; warm and pitying, it made her feel sixteen year old…sixteen, broken and helpless. She was no longer any of those things, and Brennan refused to let Sean Lowell change her again.

"I understand," Brennan said into the phone, her voice crisp and detached. "Thank you."

She hung up without waiting for a reply. Brennan stayed still for a long moment, one hand still unconsciously gripping the corner of her desk.

Brennan didn't know how long she stood there, silent and unmoving, before Booth's arms were sliding around her waist from behind.

Brennan jumped, startled, twisting and staring at him with a wide eyed, panicked look.

"Hey…" Booth's eyebrows knit together and he stared at her in confusion. "Didn't mean to scare you, Bones." He tangled his fingers in her hair, kissing her gently in greeting, then drew back and, frowning, scrutinized her face. "You okay?"

"Fine," Brennan muttered, her eyes skirting away from his concerned gaze . She absently took hold of Booth's tie, worrying the silky material between her fingers.

She was filled, suddenly, with the childish urge to bury her face in Booth's chest, hiding from someone she should no longer be afraid of.

Instead, she touched her palm briefly to his chest, managed a weak smile, and then turned to grab her bag. "We should go, right?"

"Yeah…" Booth paused, still watching her, then seemed to relax slightly. "Oh, hey, did you tell Angela about moving in?"

They started out the door. "No, I didn't have time. Why?"

"She, like, _congratulated _me on still being romantic and impressive. I figured that's what it was about."

"Oh…" Brennan paused. "I told her about you cooking dinner."

"Ah, okay." Booth grinned. "That _was_ pretty impressive."

"It was," Brennan agreed distractedly.

"Hey…" Booth looped an arm around her waist suddenly, glancing down at her. "Are you sure you're alright?"

She leaned into him, nodding. "I'm perfectly fine, Booth, just…just tired."

At that, he grinned. "Yeah, me, too." He leaned close to her ear, whispering, "Worth it, though, right?"

Brennan managed, finally, a genuine smile. "Very."

~(B*B)~

That night, Brennan lay awake for hours after Booth drifted off beside her, his slow steady breathing not enough to calm her, for once.

She'd been on edge all day, jumpy and distracted. Now, Brennan was trying to tell herself that it didn't matter, that she was being ridiculous.

Sean Lowell was nothing compared to most of what she'd faced. He'd been able to do what he did to her, quite simply, because she was young and weak, ill equipped to defend herself.

Now, sheer size and strength meant nothing to her. She was trained in three types of martial arts. She was an excellent shot.

She had beat up gang leaders. Shot and killed murderers. Fought off armed guerillas who vastly outnumbered her.

In spite of these facts, and the irrefutable logic behind them, the knowledge that Sean Lowell was free, that he clearly knew where to find her, made Brennan go cold with terror.

She shifted closer to Booth, tucking her head against his chest. He shifted slightly, not waking up.

She wasn't ready to tell Booth everything. Not now, and maybe not ever. They'd skirted over the topic of Sean Lowell once, months ago, without much detail. Without the full story.

The thought of him _knowing_ made Brennan's stomach clench.

Brennan closed her eyes, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Booth's chest as she attempted to fall asleep.

~(B*B)~

More flowers came three days later, with an identical card. This time, though, it arrived at her apartment.

Booth wasn't with her, luckily. They were staying at Booth's apartment all weekend, as they always did during Parker's visits. But both Booth boys had charm smiled away until she agreed to make apple pie (which Booth was woefully incapable of doing), and Brennan returned to her own place for the first time in days to pick up some ingredients.

The flowers were leaning against her door, as though they'd simply been dropped off rather than professionally delivered, and this method made Brennan even more uneasy.

She left the flowers where they were and entered her apartment, locking every lock on the door behind her. Brennan moved quickly through the kitchen, throwing the items she needed into a grocery bag.

When she had everything she'd come for, Brennan went into her bedroom, removing the gun from the bedside table and nestling it in the bottom of her purse.

Then she left, grabbing the flowers on her way out to deposit in the dumpster outside.

~(B*B)~

They stayed at Booth's apartment for most of the next week. The few times they weren't together by the end of the day, Brennan stopped by her place, checking for flowers. There was one other bouquet, four days after the other one. Two days before that, however, she found a card tucked in with her mail, with no name or address on the envelope.

Inside was a 'Thinking of You' card, with the usual phrase and no signature.

All week, Brennan felt overly cautious and nervy. Booth was asking if she was alright more often than usual, so she began working harder at acting as though everything was normal.

The phone calls made it to her cell phone after a few days of avoiding her apartment. They were easier to ignore that way, and Brennan deleted the long, silent voicemails that followed missed calls.

After a week of this, however, the phone calls stopped. Several days passed without any flower deliveries or strange mail, and Brennan began relaxing.

She had to remember that Sean Lowell was not a notably intelligent man. He'd had her in his house for eight months. Controlling her had not been difficult; it had taken no effort on his part...she'd been easily accessed. Now, though, he was outmatched, and had obviously decided it wasn't worth the trouble.

She and Booth began scheduling appointments to see apartments and, in a few cases, houses. They went to Parker's soccer game. They babysat Allegra (Alle to her "Aunt" Bren and "Uncle" Booth) while Hodgins and Angela had a date night.

In short, for four or five days, things seemed to return to normal.

~(B*B)~

"I mean, you _know_ how much I loved _Avatar_. I just don't see why it needs a sequel."

Sweets swallowed a mouthful of food and gave Hodgins a sidelong look of disbelief. "Why would you _not_ want a sequel? Just another chance to experience those effects in theaters."

Hodgins eyes lit up, as though the younger man had walked into a trap. "Ah, but there is another chance. Supposedly, they're rereleasing the first one in theaters. James Cameron will do anything to trick consumers out of ticket price-"

"I don't know if it really constitutes a _trick, _does it?" Without waiting for an answer, Sweets gave Hodgins a smug look. "You realize you're just applying your conspiracy theory logic to a discussion about movie sequels."

"Don't shrink me, man," Hodgins told him dryly. "I told you, these lunches are only if you _don't_."

Sweets, though, didn't appear to be listening. He was looking past Hodgins, at a man sitting several stools away from them at the bar of the diner.

Amusement flickering in Sweets' eyes, he nodded at the book in the guys hand.

Hodgins swiveled on his stool and instantly saw what the psychologist found so amusing. The guy was reading Dr. B's second book.

Suddenly, the older man looked up, followed their gaze, and smiled politely. He indicated the book. "You fans?"

Hodgins smirked slightly. "You could say that."

Sweets, though, was leaning eagerly across Hodgins to address the man. "Actually, we work with her. At the Jeffersonian."

Hodgins rolled his eyes slightly, but the man's eyes lit up in interest. "Really? I'd heard she worked nearby. That must be interesting work you do there."

"It is," Sweets said proudly, and Hodgins suppressed a smile.

The man waved the book slightly. "Afraid these are the closest I get to that kind of excitement. Been reading her for years though…I just keep rereading them all, waiting for the next one."

"I know she's been working on the next one," Sweets told him in a low voice. Hodgins gave a sudden, choking laugh at the authority injected into Sweets' tone.

The older man smiled at him, his grey eyes lighting up. "Well, I'll be buying that sure. I'm a huge fan."

"She comes in here a lot, actually," Sweets offered. "You could probably get an autograph someti- _ow."_ He turned and gave Hodgins an affronted look.

Hodgins gave Sweets a friendly smile, as though he hadn't just bruised his shins. He waved the paid bill in Sweets face. "We should probably get back to the lab."

"Right," Sweets muttered. He raised a hand in the direction of the older man. "Nice meeting you."

"Nice talking to you boys," the guy said pleasantly.

The two of them walked out of the diner, and Sweets through Hodgins an annoyed look. "Why'd you kick me?"

"Think about it, Sweets. You know how Brennan is around _us_? Her close friends and colleagues?"

"Yeah…"

"Imagine how she is around her 'fans'."

Slowly, a sheepish smile spread across Sweets face. "That's true." He laughed a little. "I just think that's so funny. I forget she's kinda famous sometimes."

Hodgins laughed, too. "Yeah, I think she does, too. You should see her face when people ask for an autograph." He pulled his face into an imitation, and the two men laughed as they headed back to work.

~(B*B)~

"Hey, Dr. B." Hodgins grinned at his box as he hopped the steps of the forensic platform. "Guess what?"

"What?" She replied, not glancing up from the file she and Angela were bent over, studying.

"We met one of your fans," he teased, Sweets coming up behind him.

Slowly, Brennan lifted her head, her eyebrows knit together. "I don't know what that means."

"We were in the diner and this guy was reading one of your books." Hodgins hit Sweets arm. "Sweets, of course, had to start chatting him up-"

"I was _not_-"

"-and apparently the guy's, like, _your biggest fan_," Hodgins grinned at her, but Brennan was staring at him, wide eyed, the color draining from her face.

"What did he look like?" She asked finally, speaking through clenched teeth.

His smile slowly fading, Hodgins glanced at Sweets, who answered, "Uh, late fifties, early sixties maybe? Good shape, though, kind of a big guy. Not, like, fat, but…" He paused, beginning to flush under Brennan's fierce gaze. "I don't know. Gray hair. Gray eyes."

"You can probably see for yourself sometime," Hodgins said, giving Sweets a pointed look. "Sweets here told him you eat in the diner a lot, he'll probably start hanging out there."

Brennan swung her gaze from Hodgins to Sweets, advancing on him with a hard, blazing look. "You told him _what_?"

Sweets looked genuinely scared, but Hodgins just replied, "I know, I told him you hate autographs-"

Not taking her eyes off the psychologist, Brennan demanded, louder than she intended, "Why would you tell a complete _stranger_ that?"

Sweets was looking wildly around, as though silently begging for help.

Tentatively, Angela touched Brennan's shoulder. "Sweetie. What's going on?"

Brennan turned slowly, blinking at her best friend as though she didn't quite recognize her. Then, her face relaxed, an impassive expression taking place of the wild one in place seconds before. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Bren-"

"It's nothing," she repeated firmly, plucking the file easily from Angela's hand and disappearing into her office.

~(B*B)~

They closed a case the next evening, and Booth and Brennan decided to walk from the Hoover; it was a warm, pleasantly breezy night, and the case had been a long one. They were glad for the breather.

"Want to get some food?" Booth asked after a few minutes of walking in companionable silence, fingers laced between them, slowing their already leisurely pace slightly.

"That'd be good," Brennan murmured.

"Diner's just up there."

"No!" Brennan winced as soon as the protest was out of her mouth, but she'd reacted too quickly to stop herself.

Booth slowed to a stop, turning slightly to look at her strangely. "What…why the suddenly strong feelings against the diner?"

Brennan ducked her head, muttering in the direction of the ground, "Nothing I just…I just don't feel like it."

"Hey…" Booth touched her face gently, making her look at him. The tender concern on his face was so palpable that Brennan's throat narrowed immediately. "What's going on, Bones?" His voice was gentle. "I know something's wrong, just…tell me what I can do. Tell me how to fix it."

For a moment she just shook her head slowly, suddenly afraid that if she spoke she would start crying, merely because of the sweet sincerity in Booth's voice.

"Is it moving in?" He tried uncertainly after a moment. "Are you…you're having second thoughts or…?"

Brennan swallowed hard, needing to answer that. "_No_. I promise, Booth, I…I want to live with you, it isn't that."

"So it's something?" His thumb caressed her cheek, comforting even though he didn't yet know why. "You can tell me, Bones."

She put her arms around him, laying her head on the place between his neck and shoulder, clinging tightly. "Hey…" Booth's voice was low, soothing as he hugged her back.

They stood like that for a moment, holding each other on the side of the street. Right then, just for a moment, Brennan wanted to tell him everything. It didn't matter that she could take care of herself, that Sean Lowell was no match for her, even alone; Booth made Brennan feel safer than she ever had in her life, and for just a second she didn't want to be alone in this anymore.

Still, she knew she couldn't do it. Because telling him what was happening now would mean explaining everything, everything she'd conveniently left out before. The full truth of what Sean Lowell did to her, how he saw her, and Brennan knew she wasn't ready to tell Booth yet.

"I'm sorry," she told him quietly, drawing back to look at him. "I know I've been…strange. I'm really okay, I just…I haven't been sleeping very well, and I think I'm just tired as a result."

Booth frowned instantly, pressing his hand to her forehead. "You're not sick are you, Bones?"

"I doubt it." She gave him a small half-smile. "It happens sometimes, Booth. With me. But I'm really okay."

He still looked a little doubtful, but slowly he nodded. "Promise?"

"Promise," she answered quietly.

"Good." Booth kissed her then, soft and slow. When he drew back, he rested his forehead against Brennan's, briefly, and smiled. She could still see the uncertainty in his eyes, and Brennan felt a surge of guilt, knowing he was only accepting her answer because he no longer expected her to keep anything from him.

"I love you," he told her quietly.

That, at least, drew a smile from her, as it always did. "Love you, too."

Booth grinned teasingly at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and letting Brennan lean her head on his shoulder. "You promise?"

"Promise," she answered, this time with nothing but certainty.

~(B*B)~

The tape was tucked in a small white envelope, stuck underneath her windshield wiper when Brennan left the lab for a lunch break the following day.

There was nothing else in the envelope, just the mini DV tape with a blank white label.

She dropped the envelope in her glove box, holding it gingerly by one corner, and left it there when she met Booth for lunch (he didn't even suggest the diner).

When she returned to the lab, though, Brennan walked straight into Angela's office and adopted a casual voice. "Hey, um…can you convert a mini tape?"

Angela frowned in confusion. "Like…a cassette tape?"

"No…" Her gloves on now, Brennan reached into the envelope and extracted the tape. "I think it's a video."

"Oh, yeah, I can convert it, no problem. What's it for?"

"It was in the artifact bag with one of the limbo cases," Brennan replied instantly; she'd spent the drive back figuring out this reasoning.

"Okay, no problem. I'll just get into a regular file…call you when it's done."

"Thanks, Ange," Brennan told her, forcing a smile as she left the office.

~(B*B)~

Half an hour later, Angela came stalking onto the forensic platform, where Brennan and Cam were busily examining a set of remains.

Angela's face was tight, her eyes huge. She spoke in a strangled voice, "Bren, I need to talk to you."

Brennan glanced over. "Can it wait a few min-"

"_No_," Angela told her forcefully. "No, it can't. I need to talk to you. _Now_."

Cam straightened up, her lips pursed, eyebrows lifting as she glanced between the other two women in confusion.

Sighing, her stomach tightening in dread, Brennan pulled off her gloves and followed Angela, murmuring an apology to Cam as she did.

Angela had barely slammed her office door behind them before she was rounding on Brennan. "What the hell is that tape, Brennan?"

Brennan narrowed her eyes at her, "Did you _watch_ it?"

"The conversion is slow, it runs the tape on the monitor while it's doing it," Angela told her flatly. "That's not part of some limbo case, Bren. _Where_ did it come from?"

"What was on it?" Brennan asked in a small voice, Angela's obvious panic heightening her fear.

"Where did you _get it_?" Angela grinded out, stubborn.

"Ange…please, just tell me." Much to her chagrin, Brennan's voice shook slightly. Still, the fear semed to calm Angela slightly, as she led Brennan to one of the monitors and pressed play.

"It's you," Angela said softly.

Brennan watched, unable to tear her eyes away, as Angela fast forwarded through the tape. The scene changed every once in awhile, but they were all the same. Surveillance. Of her. Sometimes there were long, static shots outside her or Booth's apartment, monitoring their arrivals or exits. A few times they were outside the lab somewhere, watching Brennan arrive from work. Once they caught Brennan and Angela leaving the diner. Booth, Brennan and Parker going into a pizza place.

And according to the date and time stamps in the corner of the screen, they were all over the past week.

Brennan felt lightheaded with panic. She curled her fingers inward, digging her nails into the palm of her hands so hard they left small, white half moons behind.

"Brennan," Angela's voice was shaking. "What is this?"

"It was…it was tucked under my windshield earlier," she replied faintly.

"Bren, the last clip in this is you getting here _this morning_. This…this person…whoever's watching you was doing it _today_." She sighed, shakily. "You need to call Booth."

At that suggestion, Brennan looked away from the monitor for the first time since Angela started to tape. "No."

"Sweetie, you _have _to, he can find out who did this-"

"I know who did it." Brennan stared down at her hands for a moment, then lifted her head and met her best friend's gaze. "It was…Sean Lowell.

For a moment, the artist's face was uncomprehending. Then, understanding dawned, and her eyes widened. "Your old _foster father_? The one who-"

"He's out of jail. Two years early for…good behavior," Brennan informed her dully. "And he's been…in touch."

Finally, she told Angela everything about the past several weeks. The flowers and the phone calls, the truth about who Hodgins and Sweets saw at the diner.

When Brennan finished, though, the level of fear on Angela's face surprised her.

"Sweetie, you have _got_ to tell Booth. This is…this is bad. This video…he's _following _you, Brennan. He knows where you live, he knows about Booth and Parker…"

"He's obsessed," Brennan reminded her softly. "I told you that. All those letters from prison…this isn't so different, it's just that he's capable of more now that he's free."

"You _know_ what he's capable of, Bren," Angela said sharply. "What that man did to you…"

"I can handle it, I…he had too many advantages before. I was unprepared, but now…I've beaten far more capable opponents than Sean Lowell, Ange." She set her jaw, stubborn. "I'm not afraid of him."

"You're shaking, Sweetie," Angela told her softly, her hand on Brennan's arm.

Brennan closed her eyes, and for a long moment both women were silent. Finally, Angela told her gently, "Bren, you put him in jail. Your testimony did that, and he's…he's had a long time in prison to decide to take a more lethal approach to things." She waved a hand at the tape. "He's obviously doing all this for a reason, Bren. I know you can take care of yourself, but Booth has a right to know, and he can do something, he can arrest this guy."

"It wouldn't be FBI jurisdiction," Brennan tried lamely, though her heart was sinking. She knew, somehow, that Angela was right.

This tape wasn't something she could ignore.

"Still. You have to tell him." Her tone softening, Angela reached out and gave Brennan's arm a gentle squeeze. "Booth would never let him hurt you, Sweetie."

"I…" Brennan sighed. "If I tell him about Sean being out of prison and doing all this…I'll have to explain everything."

"You never told him any of it?" Angela asked gently.

"Some, I…I told him about one letter. But he thinks it's the only one. And I…I told him Sean used to get physically violent, but nothing else. Oh, and he knows about the car trunk."

"You have to tell him," Angela told her again, smiling sympathetically. She studied her best friend for a moment, her heart going out to Brennan as she took in the genuine fear in her eyes; fear not connected to the current threat of Sean Lowell. "Bren, how come you could tell me and not Booth?"

"Because…" Brennan felt her cheeks flushing. "Because Booth and I are…I mean, I…" Her voice trailed off, but somehow Angela guessed what she was thinking.

"Hey…." When Brennan glanced back at Angela, she saw her best friend's eyes had gone unusually bright. "You know, Bren, that it won't change _anything_ about the way Booth feels about you. You _have_ to know that."

"I do," Brennan replied quietly.

And maybe she did. But she could still remember the boy her sophomore year of college, the first guy she'd ever really dated. He was in her organic chemistry class, and after two months of dating, she'd made a calculated, rational decision to have sex with him.

They'd been in her dorm room, after dinner and a movie, and the evening had been good. But the second her clothes were off, the second he touched her, Brennan felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

She was struggling to breathe, and suddenly she felt sick, helpless and exposed, and she'd started to cry. Hard, shuddering sobs, the kind of crying she never did in front of anyone else.

The boy had been panicked, leaping off her and insisting he was stopping, over and over, as though afraid he might be accused of something.

"_It was your idea! Jesus, I never said…I'm stopping, I'll go, I swear!"_

But she'd told him, breathlessly, not to go. She'd liked him, actually, and was fully aware of how she must seem to him.

Like a freak.

So, she'd told him the truth, the first time she'd spoken about it since the trial and the few sessions with a state paid therapist she'd been sent to by her social worker. She didn't tell him everything, but she told him enough.

And he'd been sweet, and he'd hugged her, kissed her sweetly and said it was okay.

But Brennan hadn't missed the way his face changed when she said the word out loud. And she certainly didn't miss the way he started avoiding her in class, the way he never her called again and pretending they'd never dated.

She understood. He didn't want someone damaged, someone who started out so dirty and broken. Why would he?

"Brennan," Angela's soft, gentle voice shook Brennan out of her reverie. "Promise me. This…this really scares me, Sweetie, so promise that you'll go tell Booth."

Brennan knew, of course, that Booth was not like Adam Garret, the first and only boy she'd ever told. Booth was in love with her, and somehow even Brennan knew that made a huge difference.

But she was in love with Booth, too, and for that reason, it would be even harder to watch his face when he found out the truth, to know that something about the way he saw her would change forever.

"I'll tell him," she finally agreed, her heart dropping with the words.

~(B*B)~

Brennan took the next morning off, without telling Booth, thankful that they were between cases. She drove on her own to a prosecutor's office, where it took two hours of waiting, lots of name dropping and references to her FBI work, but finally, she had what she'd came for.

She drove back to DC, towards the Hoover, her chest tight, her hands shaking slightly on the wheel.

This was a coward's method, and Brennan was fully aware of it. But she couldn't do it, couldn't look at Booth when she told him everything, all the details. She'd always hated talking about it, and she was certain she wouldn't be able to get through it with Booth looking at her with that unlikely mixture of anger and concern and sympathy and so much love it made her ache.

When she entered his office, Brennan was clutching the thick, rubber banded file against her chest like a shield.

Booth looked up, surprise lighting his face, followed by a smile. "Hey!" He stood up, coming around his desk to kiss her. He grinned. "Glad you stopped by, I was starting to miss ya." Booth leaned against the edge of his desk, his eyes falling on the file in her arms. "What's that? You got a case?"

Brennan was quiet for a second, finding it difficult to meet his eyes.

Finally, uneasily, Booth prompted, "Bones?"

She lifted her head, her eyes welling with tears as she met his. "I really love you, Booth," she told him softly, her voice fragile.

Instantly, his eyes darkened, the look on her face scaring him. "I…I love you, too, Bones, what…what is it? What's wrong?"

"I've been lying to you," she admitted. It was taking everything Brennan had to maintain eye contact. "I…I told you nothing was wrong, but I lied."

Booth's eyes were pools of terror as he looked at her, his hands coming up to cradle Brennan's face. "Bones, what happened? Please…"

"My old foster father, Sean Lowell, the one who locked me in the trunk of the car…you remember me telling you about him?"

"_Yes_," Booth gritted out, eyes flashing. "What-?"

"He's out of prison. He got out last month it's…a few years early. And he's been…he's been sending me things."

Booth shook his head slightly, uncomprehending. "What…what kind of things? What do you mean?"

"Flowers and…and cards. And he calls and hangs up…" She paused, unable to hold his eyes as she admitted, "He's been writing me letters for years from jail, it wasn't just the one I showed you….I didn't want to tell you because…" Her voice broke. "…because then I'd have to tell you the truth about…about what he did. To me. And…and I couldn't."

"Bones…" Booth's voice was low, and he leaned close to her, one hand threading through the silk of her hair, cradling her head. "Bones, you can tell me anything. It's okay…"

But she was shaking her heading, stepping back away from him, ducking her head to hide the tears that had escaped and were rolling slowly down her cheeks. "I can't. I'm sorry, I just…I just can't."

Booth took a step toward her, his arms out, but Brennan thrust the folder to him to stop him.

"I brought you this," she told him thickly. "Everything's in there, it's…it's the file on his case, everything that got him convicted." She choked on a sob suddenly, backing toward the door. "I'm so sorry, Booth, I couldn't tell you myself, I just _can't_…"

"Bones, wait a second," Booth protested, his chest constricting painfully, panic descending over him.

"I have to go back to the lab," Brennan murmured, swiping her sleeve under her eyes. "I'm sorry. Just…just look at that."

"_Bones_-"

"I love you," she whispered again, a desperate note in her voice that made Booth's chest ache. Then she turned, and left him alone, his hands wrapped around the large folder, holding the truth of her.

_Author's Note: Okay. So that was chapter one. Hopefully you're still intrigued and interested. This chapter was mostly set up, but I really like how it turned out, so I'm anxious to hear what you think._

_Also, without giving too much away, I will say…this isn't a typical 'Brennan gets a stalker, is eventually kidnapped by stalker, Booth saves the day' story. The main thread of the plot hasn't been revealed yet. What happens at the end of next chapter is the game changer. _

_I'm such a tease. Review away, let me know what you liked or didn't, and the update will be coming at you soon! Thanks for reading guys!_


	3. Poison and Wine

**Important Author's Note Read First!:**_ I accidentally lied, guys. I said this chapter would end with the gamechanger…but I ended up having to chop it in half. The chapter I mean. What you are about to read was supposed to be less than half of the new chapter and…clearly that was ridiculous, because it's another long on. I don't think you'll be disappointed though…the reason I did this was because this stuff ended up being important and intense and emotional that it just couldn't be rushed. And actually, it's getting published about three days earlier than it originally would have, so you'll still be getting the gamechanger at the same time. Just…with something else before it. And I think you'll find the way this chapter ends worth it (I'm such a tease, right?). _

Less Important Author's Note Read Anyway: _Just want to say_ _thanks for your continued awesome response to last chapter…it's always nerve-wracking starting a new fic, and I'm so glad you guys are responding to this one. The song is "Poison and Wine" by the Civil Wars and I can't overemphasize the beauty of this song. And the Booth and Brennan scene of this chapter…if we were actually shooting this, it'd be playing the whole time. So give it a listen._

_I've been told, also, that I should preface this chapter with a __**warning**__. It's tough to read in parts. There's some brutal stuff. _

Chapter Two

_Poison and Wine_

_You only know what I want you to  
I know everything you don't want me to  
Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine_

_Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise  
I don't have a choice but I still choose you  
_

Booth was rooted in place for several long, silent moments after Brennan essentially ran out of his office. He felt disoriented and lightheaded; the brief whirlwind of Bones' visit had managed to, quickly and efficiently, send their perfect world spinning beneath Booth's feet.

His instinct was to follow her, not to let her leave on her own when she was crying like that (or when a man who'd hurt her was suddenly free, sending her…letters? Flowers? His head was spinning with new information), but Booth knew from the way she'd pulled away from his touch, brandishing this case file like a shield, that she didn't want to be followed.

Swallowing hard, Booth stared down at the thick folder in his hands. It was thick, stuffed with papers, double wrapped with several rubber bands to hold it together.

Slowly, he slid the file onto his desk, the contents suddenly terrifying him. Whatever it was, Bones had obviously been unable to tell him herself.

In a way, it didn't surprise Booth. She'd tried to seem casual and unaffected when she'd told him about Sean Lowell, all those months ago when he'd asked about her tattoo.

But she'd avoided details, no specifics. He'd been there, years ago, when she told Sweets the story of the broken dish and the car trunk. Booth had seen what an effort it took to keep herself from falling apart, how quickly she'd regressed to a young, scared girl, voice breaking as she explained that it wasn't her fault, that the water had been hot.

One story, one horrifying glimpse into her past. This file…it held all the stories. It was more than a glimpse, it was an open window, and Booth wasn't sure if he was ready for what it would reveal.

He moved to the door of his office, turning the lock. He closed the shutters.

Then, his hands starting to shake slightly, he opened the folder.

For a moment, he glanced down at the stack of papers without absorbing details. But he could see, just behind the top few sheets, the corner of photographs, and Booth flipped immediately to them.

A strangled, involuntary sound escaped him, like a dying scream.

The first black and white photograph showed Bones, age sixteen or so, standing against a blank, neutral background. Her hair was long, halfway down her back, and stick straight. She'd ducked her head so it was obscuring half of her face; the one eye that was visible was lowered, not looking at the camera.

And she was lifting up the bottom of her white tank top, both hands gripping the material, raising it high enough to show the dark bruises and angry red slash marks that covered her rib cage.

Booth stared at the photo for a long minute, transfixed as much as he wanted to look away.

Fingers trembling, he finally turned to the next photo in the stack, and his breath caught.

It was a closer photo, and Brennan had looked up in this one, pushing her hair out of her face, obviously by instruction; her right cheekbone, the one obstructed in the previous photo, was swollen, a purple welt stretching from under her eye.

But it was the look in Bones' eyes that nearly did him in. Her face was tight and impassive, but her eyes gave her away, just as they had as long as Booth had known her.

She looked terrified and humiliated, seeming as though the one thing she wanted most in the world was to run away, to disappear and make them stop looking at her.

When Booth began to study the rest of the image, he could see the faded remnant of an older bruise, along the base of her jaw. Brennan's hand was lifted, pushing back her hair, and he could see red marks encircling her wrists, as though she'd been tied. There were bruises on her neck as well, and Booth could barely make out the faded shape of fingers.

Still, Booth's eyes snapped back to hers, the portrait of those fierce, depthless blue eyes he knew so well, so many years ago, tinted with fear and embarrassment and pain.

His stomach turned to liquid, and Booth pushed back in his chair doubling over as he barely grabbed the wastebasket in time to forcibly empty the contents of his stomach.

When he was finished, Booth remained bent at the waist for a moment, bracing his fists against the carpet to support his weight.

He had _known_ this. She'd told him this guy used to knock them around (though that seemed an understatement), and anyone who would stuff a teenage girl into the trunk of a car for two days…Booth shouldn't have been surprised.

And he wasn't a stranger to physical abuse himself. But this was Bones, and that made it so much worse.

Straightening up, Booth glanced back and forth between the two photographs. There was a date scrawled on the back, affirming Booth's guess at Bones' age in the photos.

At sixteen, she'd been tall and skinny, almost unhealthily so. Booth touched his thumb to the close up photograph, his throat so tight it ached.

He tried to imagine what it had been like for Bones at that time. Parents disappeared, her brother gone, suddenly surrounded by strangers. Socially awkward and uncertain to begin with, new high school, and going home to a man who, from the looks of it, didn't feed her enough and beat her half to death.

Slowly, Booth forced himself to look through the other photos. There was close ups of the injuries; the bruises that formed a shadow of that man's hands on her neck, the evidence of bindings on her wrists, the deep red scratches on her back.

His stomach rolled again, going limp, and he gripped the wastebasket for another few moments until the his gag reflex calmed; there was nothing left in his stomach.

Booth flipped the photographs over after a moment, standing up and pacing in front of his desk. He closed his eyes, but it was as if those images were tattooed on the back of his eyelids, inescapable.

His breathing was harsh as he paced. There was one thought, gnawing in the back of Booth's mind that he didn't want to deal with yet.

Bones had said she hadn't wanted to tell him to truth about everything Sean Lowell did to her. And those photographs…as horrible as they were, they revealed nothing she hadn't at least hinted at.

There was more waiting for him.

Booth was moving in small circles, trying to calm down. He wanted to see Bones, right then, he needed her in his arms.

But Booth knew there was more he had to go through before he could go find her.

Finally, he moved back behind his desk and sat down, pulling the file toward him. Booth started to grab one of the papers, but as he lifted the file, he felt something small and hard tucked into pocket at the top of the folder's edge.

Lifting the stack of papers to reveal it, Booth saw there was a cassette tape.

The white label on the cassette said, simply, "Temperance Brennan: Statement" and was followed by the same date that written on the back of the photographs.

Fear paralyzed Booth for a second, but then he was standing up and leaving the office, asking anyone he saw where he could find a tape player.

A few minutes later he was back in his office, locking the door behind him.

It took him a full minute before he put the tape in the player, and another two before he could press play.

For a moment, there was nothing but the soft hum of ambient noise, and then an unfamiliar voice, smooth and female, spoke. "Alright, I'm recording now. Is that alright?"

There was no answer.

The woman tried again. "We'll start out simple…can you state your name, please?"

Again, only silence. Then, finally, a small, timid voice said, "Temperance Brennan."

Just like that, Booth's heart caught. It was her voice, undoubtedly, slightly higher and thinner than the way Booth knew it.

She sounded terrified.

"And how long have you been living with Sean and Annie Lowell?"

"Um…" There was another pause. "Eight months."

"Can you tell me about that?"

This silence stretched on longer than before. Brennan's voice said softly, "I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

The woman answered crisply, "I just need you to tell me everything you told your social worker about your experience with Sean Lowell."

Booth could hear the sharp, shaking intake of breath from Brennan before she said, an audible catch in her voice, "I don't want to do this."

"Temperance, sweetheart. If you talk to me now, there's a chance we can use this statement and not make you testify. You realize what that means?"

A beat, and then, "_Yes_, of course."

For a moment, Booth heard the ghost of the Bones he knew, the affronted, _Are you QUESTIONING my intelligence_? voice. He nearly smiled, but his mouth went slack as soon as the woman on the tape continued.

"Well then I'm sure you know it'll be easier to talk to me now than in front of dozens of people in a courtroom. Now. If you could just tell me about Sean Lowell."

There was a long, long silence, and then a soft sniffle. Booth's jaw began to ache, and he suddenly realized he'd been forcefully grinding his teeth together for the duration of the tape so far.

"I don't know where to start," Brennan finally said, her voice trembling.

"Why don't you just tell me how things started out with the Lowells."

"I…I guess it was….okay at first," Brennan finally said, her words stilted and slow in coming, as though she was having to force every phrase. "Annie was…nice. Michael and Derek were still there then. We all had…a lot of chores but…it was okay."

She stopped talking, and after a moment of silence the woman prompted, "And what about Sean?"

"I didn't talk to him much. I…saw him…hit the boys, sometimes if…if they didn't…do their chores right. But he just.." This time, the pause was longer. "He just watched me a lot."

Again, the woman on the tape waited to see if Brennan would continue on her own. When she didn't, the woman prompted, "For how long?"

"I don't…three weeks, I think."

"And then?"

When Brennan finally answered, her voice was high and tight, the words flowing faster than any previous point. "He was being really nice to me. He gave me money for my SATs and I thought he was _nice_."

Every time Brennan spoke on the tape, her terror just as palpable as in the photographs, Booth felt like his heart was twisting in his chest, tighter and tighter as the tape went on, the pressure building.

"And then…." Brennan's voice went even quieter, with an undisguised tremor. "He…he start to come into my room at night and…and raped me."

His heart had twisted too tight, suddenly, and it seemed to burst. Feeling like his chest was tearing open, Booth made a strangled, animalistic sound of protest, and he had to reach out to pause the tape to stop himself from flinging it across the room.

~(B*B)~

Brennan couldn't go to the lab. She hadn't told Cam for sure whether she'd be taking the full day off or not, so she didn't feel guilty for simply returning home.

They'd been staying at Booth's place almost exclusively for the past week or so, but now Brennan returned to her own apartment without really thinking about why.

She'd barely slept the previous night, having decided what she had to do and spending the night lying awake worrying about it. So, in an uncharacteristic action, Brennan went into her bedroom and closed the door, keeping the lights and closing the curtains.

Lying down on her bed, she just wanted to sleep. She'd felt sick and shaky all morning, and it increased tenfold since she left Booth with the file.

Brennan didn't want to think about what he was reading now, everything he was finding out.

Rolling on her side, Brennan pressed her face against a pillow, squeezing her eyes shut. She had avoided all of this, the pain and the darkness from that time in her life, for years, and now it was sweeping over her, a violent riptide threatening to drown her at the exact moment she finally had everything she wanted.

And now, at this precise moment, Booth was being dragged down with her.

A memory burst behind Brennan's eyelids, the beginning of it all, and before she could stop herself, Brennan was letting it pull her further down, remembering things she hadn't let herself think of for so, so long.

_Sean finds her in the kitchen, rummaging through the trash can and gingerly plucking out cans or bottles, and for a moment Temperance is sure she's in serious trouble._

_She's been at the Lowell's for three weeks, and though Annie seems nice enough, she's been wary of Sean. Temperance has seen him hit the boys, both younger than her, both here for far longer. Still, Sean mainly just watches her, in a way that makes her nervous._

"_Sorry," she mumbles, freezing instantly, a smashed can of Coke in her hand. She lets the grocery bag holding her findings drop to the floor of the kitchen, clanking loudly. Expression etched with guilt, she darts a glance up at Sean. "I was just, um…"_

_To her infinite surprise, Sean smiles kindly. "Looking for some financial aid?"_

_Flushing, Temperance nods. "The recycling center, um, they pay money for cans and bottles."_

_Sean arches an eyebrow. "Unless you're not aiming to buy much, you're going to have to raid a lot of trash cans."_

_Suddenly flustered, Temperance picked up the fallen bag and returns it to the garbage. "Yes, I'd considered that."_

_He touches her shoulder until she looks up at him. "What do you got your eye on, Temperance?"_

_Though she stiffens slightly at his touch, Temperance manages a small, sheepish smile. "Nothing, it's…there's an SAT date soon. There's a fee to sign up…"_

"_Ah, the dreaded SATs, huh? You should've said something! That's something that's important." Then, to Temperance's shock, he pulls out his wallet. "How much do you need?."_

"_Forty dollars." Temperance's voice is faint, she's so surprised. After nearly six months in the system, she's forgotten what it's like to rely on someone for help._

_Smiling easily, Sean presses two twenties into her hands. "There you go."_

_For a moment, she only stares at the money. Then, she smiles clumsily up at him. "Th-thank you. I can…I can do extra chores and…earn the money to pay you back-"_

"_Oh, don't worry about that," Sean says mildly. He winks at her. "We'll work something out."_

_~(B*B)~_

_Two nights later, she is stuck in that calm, quiet place that comes just before falling asleep at night when her door creaks open, the sliver of light illuminating Sean's silhouette for a brief moment before he closes the door behind him._

"_Temperance?" He asks in a hushed voice; the way he says her name, stretching it out, makes her shiver and pull the covers tighter around her chin. "You awake?"_

_There's a chill working its way down Temperance's spine that makes her want to feign sleep, but he was nice to her, nicer than anyone's been for six months, and as uneasy as she feels she hasn't quite worked out what she's so afraid is going to happen._

"_Is, um…is something wrong?"_

"_Nothing's wrong," he replies mildly. _

_The bed sags and the springs of the old mattress creak as he sits down on the edge of her bed. Brennan shifts away from him, dragging her pillow with her to the corner._

"_I just thought we should have a talk."_

"_Yes, sir," she mumbles._

"_You're such a pretty girl," he says, his voice like silk, and just like that her mouth goes dry. His hand falls on her leg, the sheets and the comforter forming layers between them. "Such a beautiful young thing. You know it's my job, now, to take care of you. To protect you, as long as you live here." She is silent, shaking, and he squeezes her leg sharply. "Right?"_

"_Yes, sir," the words are soft, barely a breath. Politeness has become instinct in the face of social workers and foster families who make it clear how much gratitude she owes them. _

"_You know I care about you already, don't you, Temperance?"_

"_Yes, sir," she says again, her voice cracking. She realizes this is the only acceptable answer._

"_And since it's so important for me to take care of you…like the other day with the money…" As he speaks, Sean reaches out and grabs the bed sheets. Temperance tightens her grip, but he easily tugs it away from her, his voice still mild as though they aren't engaging in a small tug of war. _

_The blankets drop to the floor, and Brennan crosses her bare legs, stretching the bottom of the large T-shirt she sleeps in as far as it will go. _

_For a long moment, Sean stares at her, his eyes glowing in the darkness as he drinks her in, and she feels dirty and exposed. "So pretty," he purrs, voice low. "And pure…" He touches her thigh, sliding his hand barely an inch before Temperance recoils, jerking away, folding her legs toward her body._

"_Since it's my job to protect you…I want to make sure your first time is with someone who cares about you as much as I do." He seizes hold of her legs and pulls them straight, suddenly advancing over her. Sean kneels over her, his knees on either side of body. Only then does she realize he is wearing nothing over his boxers._

_With one hand, he seizes her wrists, the violence of his movements a stark contrast to his soothing tone. "Because I do care about you, Temperance."_

_She starts to thrash beneath his large body, her limbs flailing, anything to break away from him as he reaches his free hand down and hooks a finger inside the band of her underwear. A whimper escapes Temperance, and suddenly she's screaming._

"_Get off me, stop it, get OFF!"_

_His palm cracks against her cheek, his hand huge and forceful. The surprise and pain of it silences her, and Temperance stares up at him, eyes flooding, her lungs tiny and paralyzed._

"_Oh, don't make me do that, Temperance, love," Sean coos down at her. "Don't make me hurt you." He drags her underwear down her legs, leaving them tangled around her shins, and reaches up, sliding a finger toward her, reaching up, violating her._

_Her stomach lurches, and much as she wants to scream again, Temperance can't force herself to so much as take a breath. She feels like she is shrinking into herself._

_She's dimly aware of Sean shaking his legs, of him peeling off his boxers, of him pressing against her. _

"_Please. Please stop, please, please don't," she sobs at him, like a child, her voice watery and hysterical. "I don't want to, I don't want to…"_

"_Don't be afraid," he says, voice low and husky. "It's a beautiful thing, Temperance. Don't be scared. And don't yell out. Don't make me hurt you."_

_He hurts her anyway. Almost all his weight is on top of her, his large body pinning her down, making it impossible for her to move and get away. It's like he's suffocating her, caging her betwee the bed and his body, and all she wants is to sink into it and disappear._

_There are tears flowing steadily from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks, and she cries the whole time, small, gasping sobs that Sean pays no attention to as he breaks her open, forcing himself where he doesn't belong and it hurts so much she can't see straight._

_She screams once, desperate, begging him to stop, and immediately his fist collides with her temple, his nails sinking into her back, breaking skin and dragging downward._

_Then she goes quiet, choking back even the sobs as best she can._

_It seems to last forever, and by the time it's over, Temperance is someone else, someone she does not want to be. He rolls off of her casually, sitting up again and leaning over to kiss her cheek, sticky with cold sweat and slick with tears._

"_I'm taking care of you," he assures her. "They think you're too young for this, Temperance. They think you're too young to have someone care about you this much. So you can't ever tell anyone about this. I don't want to hurt you, Temperance. I don't ever want to hurt you, so you can't tell. Understand?"_

_She is silent; words are gone._

_Then his hands are on her shoulders, lifting her up and throwing her back so her head snaps against the hard, cold wall behind her bed. A whimper falls from her lips._

"_Understand?" His tone hasn't changed at all._

"_Yes, sir." Her own voice suddenly sounds like that of a stranger.  
_

"_Good." Sean drops her back onto her bed, devoid of blankets, sticky and stained with her blood. "Goodnight, Temperance."_

_When he leaves, closing the door behind him, Temperance lays very still for a long moment, waiting to see if she'll wake up, discover that this was all a vivid nightmare._

_When nothing happens, she jerks the pillow case free and balls up a corner, stuffing it in her mouth to muffle the screams that suddenly won't stop._

~(B*B)~

Brennan rolled over on her stomach, blinking furiously to stop threatening tears. She pressed her palms to either side of her head, applying pressure, as though she could physically stop herself from remembering.

Despite her strenuous objections (even then, she'd known psychology and psychotherapy were a ridiculous waste of time), they'd made her see a state psychiatrist for several sessions after the arrest.

Around that time, they'd all been determined to tell her it wasn't her fault. The psychiatrist told her. Her social worker told her. The woman who ran the group home she went to after, the one specifically for 'troubled' foster kids, told her.

But Brennan had known it wasn't entirely true. Because the first words out of her social workers mouth when she got to the hospital were, "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

No matter what anyone said, she had let it go on. As exceptionally intelligent as Brennan was, even at age sixteen, she'd let fear rule her. She had ignored logic and reason and let him threaten her into silence.

Objectively, that first time was not her fault. But every time after, every time he touched her…she could have stopped it.

And by now, Booth knew everything.

~(B*B)~

"So after that first instance of rape," the woman continued on the tape, her voice smooth as though that word meant nothing. "It continued?" There was a long silence, and then the woman corrected, "I need you to answer, Temperance, the tape doesn't know if you nod."

"Yes," she said thickly.

Booth's elbows were on either side of the tape player, the heels of his hands pressed over his eyes.

"How often?"

"I…a lot. Two or three times a week."

"Always at night?"

"Yes."

"Were there any other instances of violence?"

"Yes..most of the time, he…he would tell me I couldn't tell anyone, and that he didn't want to hurt me but he…he always did." Her voice cracked. "Can I please stop now?"

Waves of pain ripped steadily through Booth's body. He could feel tears beginning to wet his palms.

"Not just yet," the woman said gently. "Did he use protection? Condoms?"

Her eventual answer was barely audible. "Most of the time."

"Was the violence only at night, during the sexual assault?"

"N-no." There was a long pause, and then Brennan continued tremulously, "The boys got moved after two months of it, and then he started…he started doing it more. If I didn't…do my chores right, or if I was late getting home from school. He would…always say he was showing me how to be better. Because he _cared about me_."

For the first time on the tape, Brennan's tone betrayed anger.

"Did Sean continue to threaten you? If you told anyone about the abuse?"

"_Yes_!" Brennan burst out vehemently. "He, he always said he would hurt me because it wasn't allowed, and if I told he would…he would rather kill me than have them take me away! I thought it was true, I thought he really would, that's the only reason I never told…" Her voice fell to pieces, and the only sound on the tape was loud, gulping sobs.

Booth slammed his fist against the side of his desk, a scream tearing at his throat. He knew, logically, that this was years and years ago, before he even knew Bones existed, but his helplessness, the inability to change the fact that she'd gone through this made him want to die.

The sobbing continued, and Booth touched his fingers to the tiny speakers, his vision blurring with a new wave of tears. "Bones…." He whispered her name, on instinct.

"That's enough, right?" Brennan finally choked out on tape. "That's enough, please let me go…"

"Just a few more questions, Temperance. Tell me about what happened last month."

"A lot happened last month," she replied shakily; literal as always.

"What happened last month when you were washing dishes?"

There was a pause, punctured by several long, shuddering breath as Brennan pulled herself together. "I broke a dish."

Another silence. "And what happened after?"

"I'd done it before, and…and Sean told me I, I'd have to be punished. If it happened again. Because I had to learn. That it was his j-job to make sure I learned."

"So what did he do?"

"He…he tied me up," Brennan's voice broke again, and when she started talking it was muffled, as though she was covering her face with her hands. "My hands and feet and he…he took me to the garage and locked me in the trunk of the car."

"Then what happened?"

"He shut me inside. It was…it was a _really_ long time."

"How long?"

The fragility, and the naked fear in Brennan's voice was killing Booth. "I found out it was two days. I woke up when he was carrying me upstairs. I must've…lost consciousness. In the trunk."

"What did Sean do after he let you out?"

"He…he let me shower because I…I was in there for two days without a restroom, and…" Her voice humiliation stripped through it, trailed off. "And then he…he told me he missed me and he…made me sleep with him to…prove it."

Booth's fist hit the side of his desk again. The room was spinning, the strength of his rage screwing with his senses. He was suddenly irrationally glad this guy was out of prison. In that moment, he wanted to find him and force him into a slow, painful death…fuck the justice system, fuck paying his debt to society, this guy would never be able to pay enough for what he'd done to Bones…

"You're doing great, Temperance," the woman told her. "We're almost finished. We just need to talk about what happened leading up to Sean's arrest."

"Alright," she answered dully, her voice almost resigned. Two and a half weeks ago he stopped letting me go to school."

"Had that happened before?"

Another pause before Brennan answered, "Yes. But always just a day or two at time." He could hear the pained note in her voice; Booth could imagine how much Bones would've hated that, being kept away from school, the one escape she had. "This time he said…I couldn't go back."

For another twenty minutes, Booth listened to her recount two weeks of essentially being held hostage by that man. Tied to her bed so he could come in and indulge himself whenever, constantly beaten, barely left alone, rarely even fed….the woman asked for much more detailed descriptions for these incidents, and by the end of the tape Brennan was noticeably in tears, though valiantly and heartbreakingly trying to fight them back, and Booth's knuckles were bruised, his eyes burning.

He pressed the stop button at last, the sudden silence buzzing around him.

His stomach was coiled in revulsion, his blood hot and throbbing with useless rage that was years too late.

The photographs were still face down on his desk, and the thought of turning them over again made him feel sick. It was too much now. Those images, along with her voice on the tape, so young and terrified, could be haunting him for a long time.

Right now he just wanted to see Bones, _his_ Bones, to wrap her in his arms and make sure she never felt helpless and alone again, to swear that he'd never let anyone hurt her and he'd spend the rest of his life trying to fill hers with enough happiness that she almost forgot what it was like to be so hurt.

But she hadn't wanted to tell him any of this, hadn't been able to do it herself. All potential reasons for that jut broke his heart.

There was more in the file, though Booth felt as though he'd taken in enough horror to haunt him for a lifetime.

Still, after Booth managed to somewhat pull himself together, he pulled out several stapled papers out at random from the stack.

The medical report, when Brennan was admitted to the hospital. Phrases from the doctor's findings, though they are detached and clinical, cut Booth to the quick each time he read one.

_Multiple bruises and lacerations (various degrees of healing)._

_Long term physical violence._

_Fractured ribs. _

_Compression fractures from T9 toT11 vertebrae._

_Hairline fracture of the left wrist._

_Total of 64 stitches (see: left eye, right hip, left thigh, left shoulder)._

_Beginnings of malnourishment indicated._

_Evidence of long term, forced penetration; severe vaginal trauma._

_Semen sample taken from inner thigh._

He read until the words blurred in front of him. Then he got to a police report and learned that the police had only been called by her social worker, who'd been informed by the school that Temperance hadn't shown up for over two weeks. The social workers calls to the house had been unanswered, and she'd finally called the police to investigate.

They'd found Brennan unconscious , tied to her bed with very little clothes on, bleeding from her lips, her body bruised and beaten.

As he'd been arrested, Sean Lowell had continually insisted that he be allowed to check in on her, that she needed him, that no one else would take of her like he did.

There was more in the file, so much more, trial transcripts and statements and witness statements and psychological reports…but Booth had seen (and heard) enough.

He needed to see Bones, and he needed to see her now.

Shoving everything back into the folder and messily wrapping the rubber band around it, Booth tucked the file under his arm and left his office.

~(B*B)~

When Booth got to his car, he got a look at himself in the rearview mirror. Wild, bloodshot eyes, his face ashen.

He looked like hell.

This assertion was reaffirmed several minutes later when he practically ran through the Jeffersonian toward the forensic platform. Cam, Hodgins and Angela all did double takes when they saw him, clearly taken aback by his appearance.

"Seeley, what happened?" Cam asked before he even spoke.

"I need Bones," he told them roughly. Booth's eyes swept the lab as though he's somehow failed to notice her. "Where, where's Bones, is she…in her office? I have to see her, right now."

Understanding seemed to dawn on Angela's face, though the other two only looked more confused. "She has the day off, Seeley," Cam told him warily. "You didn't know that?"

"Booth?" Angela said gently. "You should go talk to her. She's probably at home waiting."

Without waiting for more, he turned and headed out of the building.

~(B*B)~

Booth went to his own apartment first, not even considering a choice; it had been over a week since they'd been back to her place. But Bones wasn't there, and as he drove to her apartment Booth wondered, briefly, if she was hiding from him on purpose.

But her car was in its usual space at her apartment building, and Booth was practically sprinting across the parking lot and inside the building.

He didn't know yet what he was going to say to her, how he could possibly put everything he was feeling into words, but Booth wasn't thinking about it. He needed to see her, and that need was all he could focus on.

Booth didn't stop moving until he was in the door of Brennan's bedroom; she was lying on the bed, facing away from him, but the second Booth saw her, his throat tightened, heart clenching in his chest.

"Bones?" He murmured gently, his voice ragged.

He could see her stiffen slightly, but Brenan didn't move. Booth walked slowly around the bed; Brennan's arm was folded under her head, and she was staring straight ahead at the wall, her eyes wide and red.

"Hey…" Booth sat down on the bed, reaching over and gently brushing her hair away from her face.

Brennan lowered her eyes, her lips trembling slightly before she pressed them together.

As always, Booth understood her perfectly. She was scared of this moment, scared of finding out if the Booth looked at her changed now that he knew.

Unexpectedly, the lump in his throat rose, and Booth felt tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. "Bones," his voice was barely even a whisper, the only way he knew he could keep the words steady. "Bones, look at me." She slowly sat up, though still ducking her head. Booth gently touched a lock of her hair that was hanging loosely in front of her face, brushing it away. "Bones, please, I…I _need_ you to look at me."

Slowly, painstakingly, Brennan lifted her eyes to meet Booth's, and the look on his face knocked the wind out of her. His soft, bruised brown eyes seemed to drink in her image, and they were filled with so much love and easy, infinite tenderness that for a moment she couldn't breathe.

Then, Booth deliberately lifted his arms, resting his warm, shaking hands on either side of her face, cradling her, and then swept forward and captured her lips in his.

He kissed her softly, but intense, pouring everything he felt, everything he didn't have the words to say into the kiss. His lips' movements were tender and gentle, as he gently caressed her cheek with his thumb.

When they broke apart at last, there were tears in Brennan's eyes, and she stared up at him, expression still fearful.

When Booth spoke, his voice was low and fierce, "I need you to understand…there is _nothing_ that is ever going to change how much I love you. _Nothing_." He paused, drawing a shaky breath. "I hate that that happened to you, Bones. I _hate_ it. I wish I could take it all away, I really do, I wish…I wish your life had been _perfect_. I wish Max and your mom had never left, and that'd you have never had a second in your life when you didn't know you were loved," His voice broke, and Booth set his jaw before continuing. "You deserved that, Bones, you deserved it more than _anyone_ I know."

A tear slipped from Brennan's eye, and she looked away again, but Booth touched her cheek, gently brushing it away before tilting her face to look at him.

"But you got through all that, Bones, and you're still this…this _incredible_ woman with this huge heart and..it amazes me Bones. And all that file did was prove to me what I already knew…I…I love how strong you are, and how brave you are, even though I wish you never had to be. And it doesn't matter, you know, that this guy's out of prison. I will _never_ let him hurt you again."

For a long, still moment, they merely looked at each other. And then Brennan leaned forward, burying her face in his chest and letting Booth do what he'd needed all afternoon; wrap her in his tight, protective embrace.

They stayed like that for several long minutes, clinging to each other. A few times Booth could feel Brennan shudder in his arms, and he brushed his lips against her hair, murmuring low, soothing words.

After awhile, Brennan drew back gently, brushing her hand quickly across her cheeks. "I'm sorry I lied."

"It's okay," he told her quietly, leaning in and kissing her again, softly, but Brennan responded fiercely, her lips pressing hungrily against his. She kissed him like she was drowning, her hand wrapping around the nape of his neck.

He pulled her closer, entwining his arms around her, and then Brennan was tugging her shirt over her head.

She paused, then, pulling away and meeting his eyes, her expression shy and almost fearful, as if they hadn't been doing this for months.

Booth understood. She wanted to make sure _this_ had not changed.

He reached out slowly, touching his fingers against her ribcage, that place that had been darkened with bruises in photographs he'd seen barely an hour ago. He touched her tenderly, with reverence, and then let his hand snake behind her back to unclasp her bra.

Booth leaned in again, kissing her softly. "You, Bones, are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." He told her softly, the brown of his eyes deepening. He rounded his lips over her jaw line, slowly working down to the base of her throat. "That has _always_ been true."

He paused slightly to pull off his own shirt, and Brennan circled her arms around his back, their torsos pressing together, the heat mingling. Her forehead fell, briefly against his shoulder, and for a moment Booth just held her, dropping his head to kiss the soft, smooth skin of her back.

It was Brennan who pulled back, dragging her fingers down his chest.

She fell back on the bed, hurriedly removing her jeans and underwear as Booth did the same before leaning over her, bracing himself, reclaiming her mouth in his.

Brennan craned her neck leaning up to meet him, her mouth rounding on the hollow of his throat, tongue flicking against the rough stubble. She lowered her hand, splaying her fingers against the curve of his hip, her fingers grazing him the way that made him instantly harder.

He responded by unsealing their lips, moving away slightly as he kissed his way down her body, his tongue circling her skin, one hand working in tandem. His palm slid over every inch of her skin, caressing her.

He remembered every place there had been a wound, in the photographs, and he touched and tasted every one of them, as though his touch could heal some invisible scar after all this time.

A low moan rose from the back of Brennan's throat, her hands, tangled in his hair, shaking slightly. She arched slightly, pressing her hips against him, and Booth felt himself tightening in desire.

"Booth," she gasped. "Booth, please…"

He slid his hand from her breast, softly trailing down her side, stopping at the place on her hip where a tattoo hid still more scars. Booth brushed his thumb soothingly over the scar tissue, lifting himself up again so he could return to her mouth, kissing her deeply as his hand finally slid away from the cigarette burns on her hip, reaching between her legs, feeling the wet heat of her.

Brennan gasped against his lips, her arms tightening around him, fingernails dragging against Booth's back as his fingers slid inside her.

Booth leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, his finger still leisurely stroking her. "_Mine_," he managed to choke out roughly.

Somehow, he knew Bones understand what he meant, that the word at that moment was not some alpha male claim of possession. They belonged to each other, they always had. Booth wanted to make love to her in a way that made her forget sex had ever been anything less than that.

Brennan's eyes flooded, making them a pale, glittering blue he could drown in. "I love you," she gasped out hoarsely. "Booth, I…I need…I need you. Now."

He kissed her once, his free hand tracing her cheekbone, now perfect and unmarred by long ago beatings, before withdrawing his fingers from her, lifting himself up. Brennan arched back as Booth's arms slid beneath her, bracing their weight on his forearms as he finally allowed himself to enter her fully.

Brennan gasped as he slid into her, into the place he'd always fit perfectly. She was already tight around him, and she whimpered as he withdrew and returned, his eyes closed, moaning quietly.

His movements were slow and gentle at first, and Brennan tightened her arms around him, grinding against him. "Booth," she managed. "Booth, more. _Harder_."

She was afraid, more than anything, of him treating her like some fragile, breakable thing, like glass ready to shatter. Since Booth, she had never been stronger or more whole, and she needed to know he still understood that. "Booth, please…"

Gasping against her neck, he picked up the pace, setting a steady rhythm, holding her even tighter as their skin ground against each other.

He found her lips again, kissing her in sync with their fevered movements.

Booth wanted every kiss, every movement between them, to mean something, to be a promise, a reassurance. He wanted every cry of pleasure he elicited from her to erase the memory of any time she had cried out in pain or fear.

He made love to her in way that, he hoped, could make her feel so protected and loved and _worshiped _that she forgot anything different had ever existed.

~(B*B)~

After, Booth lay with Brennan wrapped in his arms, their hot sweaty skin pressed together. Her hair was damp and tousled against his chest, and Booth's fingers hooked around a lock of it, twisting absently.

"Booth?" She asked after a long moment of silence, her voice tentative.

"Yeah, Bones?"

"I'm glad that you know," she paused. "I had assumed I wouldn't be, but I…I'm glad." She leaned back, just a little, to look at him. "You know everything now."

He smiled, a little shakily. "I love you so much, Bones," he replied finally, just because he wanted there to be no room for doubt. "And…I meant what I said." His eyes hardened, and he unconsciously pulled Brennan tighter against him. "I will not let him hurt you ever again. _That_ is a promise."

~(B*B)~

_A/N: So. Phew. Hopefully you can see why this wouldn't have worked as only half of a chapter that has a lot of other stuff going on, and understand why I had to postpone the game changer a little while. Not a lot went forward in the greater Sean Lowell plot, but this was all really, really important Booth and Brennan stuff…and they're the center of this story, the reason you're all reading, etc. _

_Anyway, the gamechanger is without question next chapter, and that should be up soon since I feel guilty about accidentally lying haha. Thanks for putting up with my excessively rambly author's notes this time around….Please review and let me know what you thought of all this…it's the best motivation ever. _


	4. 9 Crimes

_**Author's Note: **__ Hey everyone, sorry for the massive delay on this, I had an unusually busy week at school and last weekend ending up going home unexpectedly. Anyway, it's another long chapter, and includes, as promised, the game changer. So I hope it's a little worth the wait. I've got a busy week coming up with a pretty heavy shooting schedule for my documentary project, but we're taking it in shifts so I should have time to get the chapter anyway. Song this chapter is 9 Crimes. Thanks so much for being patient and reading….let me know what you think of this one!_

_A Note: Also, there's a lot of legal research being done for this story, and though we're trying to be as accurate as possible, I don't have a team of researchers….just Google. So there are a couple of details we're unsure about, like whether the case would be federal (thinking no, since no state lines were crossed in the actual stalking) but if there are any little inaccuracies, just bear with my Google tools haha._

Chapter Three

_9 Crimes_

_It's the wrong time  
She's pulling me through  
It's a small crime  
And I've got no excuse_

_Is that alright?  
I give my gun away when it's loaded  
Is that alright?  
If you do'nt shoot it, how am I supposed to hold it?_

Brennan could literally feel Booth's tension; her chin was hooked over his shoulder, and she could detect the tightening of his muscles as he sped through the images on her laptop.

Finally, he paused the video file, freezing an image of Brennan entering the Jeffersonian. It seemed to have been taken from across the street, slightly diagonal. "This is from this morning," he said finally, speaking through clenched teeth.

"I know," Brennan replied quietly.

A low sound, almost like a growl, rose from Booth's throat. Brennan's arms were around him, and Booth hooked his fingers through hers, the gentleness of his thumb caressing her knuckles contrasting with the angry sound. "You kept the original tape?"

"Yes, and the envelope. And all the cards from the flowers. He didn't leave any fingerprints, Booth, I checked at the lab."

Booth's muscles seemed to stiffen even more, but he only nodded. Slowly exhaling, Booth turned around, facing Brennan and everything they'd spread out over the bedspread.

Every letter Sean Lowell had sent her over the years was open on the bed, lying on top of its original envelope. The case file was there, too, though neither of them had the courage to open it again.

"Okay," Booth said softly, his eyes darting from letter to letter. "Okay…we should look into tracing the phone calls…"

"I did," Brennan told him. "When he started calling my cell phone, he didn't block the calls…they were from pay phones, Booth."

A muscle was jumping in Booth's jaw. "So he's not a _complete_ idiot," he said finally. "It doesn't matter. We'll get him…he's on parole, we can locate him, no problem. This is already grounds for harassment."

Brennan bit her lip, hesitating. "There's no proof, Booth. The evidence, it's…it's circumstantial. No hard evidence."

"Those cards have the same phrase as the letters, Bones," Booth reminded her. "And it's not…the way he words it is strange. Original."

"It's still not enough."

Booth met Brennan's eyes, wanting to be frustrated by her maddening logic. But he could see the fear in her eyes, and Booth forced himself to smile reassuringly as he reclaimed her hand. "Doesn't matter." He tapped his knuckles once against the laptop screen. "There's still this, remember? He wants to wander around after you with a camera, it shouldn't be difficult to catch him in the act."

She nodded, eyes lingering on the screen. "Should we…" She paused, willing a casual voice. "Should we get a restraining order?"

Booth paused, then said gently, "Not yet, I don't think. He's been passive so far….that may provoke him." Brennan curled her lips together, and Booth wrapped an arm around her. "I'm not going to let him come near you, Bones. Restraining order or not. You…you aren't going anywhere alone, alright?"

Brennan turned to look at Booth, her eyes glinting defiantly. "I'm not afraid of him, Booth," Brennan told him firmly. "I couldn't fight back then…he had the obvious advantage in size, and I wasn't properly trained in combat or…defensive techniques. He couldn't hurt me now."

"Yeah, I know," he replied quietly. "Just…it would make me feel better, Bones."

She nodded, secretly grateful, and Booth smiled a little tightly, not saying what he was thinking. The letters from prison, especially, had painted a very clear picture of the depth of Sean's obsession and delusion…the man thought he was in love with Brennan, that she cared for him, too, and that he was the best thing for her.

Booth had seen what that kind of delusional fixation could lead to. This man had had many long years in prison, obsessed with the sixteen year old version of Brennan. Now that he was out, he would discover the implications of Brennan being older and, as she pointed out, free from his control.

It wasn't too difficult to imagine that Sean Lowell might decide that if couldn't have Brennan…no one should.

Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on Brennan as she leaned against him. "It's gonna be fine, Bones," he murmured. "It'll be over soon. I promise."

~(B*B)~

That night, Brennan fell asleep faster and easier than she had in weeks. Telling Booth, or at least letting him find out, had been a surprising relief.

As much as Brennan was continually reminding herself that she had no reason to be afraid of Sean anymore, the most significant difference from the last time this had happened was that she was no longer alone.

Booth, though, lay awake long after Brennan drifted off. They were lying on their sides, bodies curled together, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.

Booth's whole body felt heavy, somehow, as though everything he'd learned today was literally weighing on him. He felt pulled between the past and the present, still processing everything Sean had done to Bones back then with the threat he was presenting now.

He nestled even closer to Brennan, half burying his face in her hair.

It had been hours, and he couldn't get those photos, or Brennan's voice on the tape, out of his head. Booth couldn't allow himself to continue to dwell on what it must have been like for Brennan at that time in her life…it made him sick to his stomach, and it made him want to shake Bones awake and tell her over and over again how much he loved her.

Still, as Booth forcibly shoved these thoughts away, what he was left with was hot, twisted fury as true understanding of what it meant to feel _hatred_ coursed through his veins.

~(B*B)~

"Alright…I guess I'll see you tonight?" There was a question in Brennan's voice, because Booth had put the SUV in park and was now staring out his window across the street from the Jeffersonian.

"What?" he answered, after a too long delay, turning around and looking at Brennan. "Oh, yeah. Unless you wanted lunch?"

"It's Thursday," she reminded him; it was the day of her weekly lunch with Angela.

"Right, right," Booth replied distractedly, his attention out the window again. "I'll come by and get you around five then….if we don't have a case…"

Brennan touched her hand to his arm. "Booth." When he still didn't look at her, she squeezed once, gently. "It's alright."

"I know," he said, giving her a half-smile. "I'm going to look into some stuff today…."

"Like what?"

"Nothing major, Bones, just start seeing what I can do-"

"Don't treat me like a victim, Booth," she cut him off, her voice suddenly hard. "I'm still your partner, I'm not…I'm not a victim."

For the first time since pulling up to the lab, Booth gave Brennan his full attention. "I know you aren't, Bones," he murmured, touching her cheek gently. "I know. I'm going to research where the guy's living, see about touching base with his parole officer. I'd also like to look into the flower shops." Booth's eyes flashed, briefly. "As soon as we get something to tie him to all this, we'll know where to find him, Bones."

"Well, I should come with you," Brennan replied firmly.

"It's okay, Bones…I'm just gonna do it when I have time between paperwork." He reached out, threading his fingers through her hair and softening his voice, "If I need anything, I'll come get you. I promise." She nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "And _you_ call me if you need me, okay?"

"I'll be fine, Booth."

"I know you will." He leaned across the seat, kissing her, slowly and reassuringly. "Love you."

She smiled slightly. "Love you, too."

Brennan opened the car door and had one leg out of the car before Booth stopped her. "Bones, are…where are you and Ange going for lunch?"

"We haven't decided," she answered, tone cautious as she waited to see where he was going with this.

His voice hesitant, Booth suggested, "Maybe you should order in-"

"No, Booth," she interrupted, her voice calm but firm. "I'm not staying hidden in the lab, Booth. I'm not letting him do that to me." Beside her, Booth exhaled slowly, lowering his eyes. Brennan peered at him. "You get that?"

He lifted his gaze, nodding slowly. "Yeah, Bones. You wouldn't be you if you let him." He kissed her again, quickly. "Be careful."

Brennan just nodded, stepping out of the car and standing up. She smiled at Booth before closing the door, and when she turned around at the entrance to the Jeffersonian, Booth was still watching her. He lifted his hand in a wave, and Brennan smiled again before entering the building.

~(B*B)~

As soon as Bones was out of sight, Booth drove the SUV to his usual place in the Jeffersonian parking deck and began on foot across the street from the lab, to the place where some of the video clips seemed to be taken.

Booth surveyed the section of the street for nearly twenty minutes, lingering in one spot for a few minutes before switching positions, his eyes darting the whole time.

Finally, he moved back to his car, gritting his teeth in frustration as he got in his car and reluctantly drove away from Brennan.

~(B*B)~

"It's good that you told him," Angela said quietly when Brennan was finished giving a brief summary of yesterday. She offered Brennan a smile. "I know it wasn't easy."

"I didn't exactly tell him," Brennan reminded her flatly. "I gave him the file."

"_Still_." Angela paused, sipping her water. "It makes me feel better."

"It's just…" Brennan sighed. "There's nothing to hold him, Angela. He…he's gotten smarter, and…there's nothing to hold him on." She glared down at her plate for a moment. "Even if…if the card on the flowers was enough…it's not a crime."

"Sweetie….that _tape_ was harassment. Stalking."

"But we have no proof that he sent it," Brennan repeated. "No automatic connection to the flowers. Legally…it's going to be difficult to take any action."

Angela watched Brennan for a long moment, then finally said quietly, "You mean until he tries something. Don't you?"

"That is the most likely scenario, yes." Brennan's voice was mild, but after a pause she added resolutely. "That isn't a problem, Ange. I can fight him now, I'm very adept at-"

"I know, you said…" Angela murmured. "But Brennan…" She paused, drawing a breath before finally saying what Booth hadn't been able to. "…what if he isn't just fighting you this time? If he's figured out that…he can't just knock you around anymore?"

Brennan blinked at her for a moment, then shook her head. "I've been carrying my gun. Booth knows now, what…what else can I do, Angela?"

"I…nothing, I know. Just…I want you to be careful, okay, Brennan? I know you're trying not to be afraid of him-"

"I'm _not_."

"Brennan….it's okay if you are. But no matter what…you need to be careful. He…he has stayed fixated on you for, like, twenty years, Brennan. It's not about him being stronger than you, or smarter than you, it's…he's unhinged, Brennan."

"I _know_, Angela, I…I know that. But I can't…I can't let him…control my life, I can't let him scare me away-"

"Well, he scares _me_," Angela cut in, her voice fierce. "Him being out, looking for you, knowing where you live…Look, I…I know you guys are doing everything you can. But just…let Booth help take care of you, alright?"

"I…I will." Brennan gave her a small smile, arching an eyebrow. "You don't think I can take care of myself?"

Angela smiled back, her eyes shining with equal parts affection and concern. "I think sometimes you're a little too reckless for your own good, Brennan. I think sometimes you try so hard not to be scared that you forget to be cautious….but I _know_ Booth would never let anyone hurt you."

~(B*B)~

"Agent Booth?" Booth stood at the sound of his name, and the man in front of him stuck out his hand. "Michael Adamson. Come on in."

Booth followed the younger man into the small cluttered office. Once they were seated on either side of the desk, Michael smiled mildly at him. "So what can I do for you?"

"One of your recent, uh…parolees. Sean Lowell. What can you tell me about him?"

"Sean, right…" Michael folded his hands. "You know his record I assume?"

"I'm familiar," Booth replied tersely.

"Well, he, uh…he earned his parole. Never had a disciplinary board or write up…he went through AA, early on in his sentence, and then he started sponsoring other inmates…honestly, he was a model prisoner."

"_Good_ for him," Booth practically snarled, surprised again by the force of is anger, and his inability to suppress it.

Michael was eyeing Booth suspiciously. "What's this about, Agent Booth?"

"I'm asking the questions right now," Booth said aggressively, and he could see the change on Michael's face, the moment he wrote Booth off as another belligerent federal guy with a superiority complex.

"Well, unless you get specific, I can't help you much," Michael said, his tone now clipped and dismissive. "He hasn't violated the terms of his parole, he checks in regularly, attends all his counseling sessions…"

"What are the other terms of his parole?" Booth interrupted. "Anything about contacting his victim?"

Michael's eyebrows drew together. "Yeah, he's not allowed any contact what…has something happened that I need to know?"

Booth swallowed hard. If he voiced unproven suspicions, it wouldn't result in Sean's parole getting revoked. It would only make his parole officer ask him about it, which could, like a restraining order, provoke Sean to make a move earlier than he would have.

"I just need some information from him," Booth said gruffly. "I'm going to need his address."

~(B*B)~

Booth spent the rest of the day investigating. He drove by the Jeffersonian and Brennan's place, checking areas where the video had been filmed. He passed Sean's apartment building, just to get a look. He made attempts to trace flower deliveries, all dead ends.

By the end of the day, as he drove to the Jeffersonian to pick up Brennan, Booth had finally admitted to himself what he'd been trying to deny since yesterday.

The justice system, the system he trusted and believed in and _worked for_, couldn't help them. Not yet, anyway, and he wasn't going to sit around and wait for this guy to go after Bones for him to be able to fix it.

Still, when Brennan got in the car outside the lab, all Booth told her was, "Good news, Bones. Condition of Lowell's parole is that he can't have any contact with his victim. So the second he approaches you or…we prove he's sending something, we got him. Don't even need the restraining order."

"That's…alright." Brennan studied his face. "Anything else?"

"I figured out where he lives."

Brennan watched her for another minute, and Booth half smiled at her, though it was stiff and forced. Finally, she nodded. "That's good."

~(B*B)~

As soon as they entered Booth's apartment hallway, they saw the flowers. A bouquet of tulips were leaning against the doorway, and they could just see the white card tucked among them.

Both of them froze, staring, this first sign that he'd been inside Booth's place as well as her own.

"Don't touch it," Booth murmured unnecessarily. "We'll check for fingerprints."

"It's unlikely he'll stray from his pattern now, Booth. Nothing else has had fingerprints." Still, as she spoke, she reached into her bag and pulled out the extra pair of gloves she carried.

She bent down and picked them up, then paused. "Booth…"

He'd been checking the door, assuring that the locks were still locked, when he looked down at her. Brennan craned her neck holding up what had been stuck in the back of the flowers…several photographs of Brennan, taken in the same places the video had been.

Booth set his jaw, and nodded once. "Okay."

They were quiet as they entered the apartment and secured the flowers and photographs in evidence bags. Booth watched as Brennan tugged off her gloves and threw them away. She glanced up, her eyes meeting his, and in two strides he crossed the space between them and pulled her into his arms.

~(B*B)~

"Booth, Angela said something…"

Brennan had been lying on his chest, but as she spoke she shuffled back slightly in the bed so she could look at Booth, their faces inches away.

"What'd she say?" He murmured quietly.

"I was talking about how it would be difficult to take legal action against him and…she said…she said _until he tries something_." She paused, waiting for Booth to interject, to correct her. When he didn't, Brennan continued, "And I think she's right."

For a long moment Booth was quiet, not wanting to admit that he'd come to that same conclusion. Finally, he said in low voice, "No. I'll…I'll figure out something. We'll catch him out on something, Bones." He kissed her quickly, sealing a promise, and Brennan snuggled closer again. After a moment of quiet, though, Booth said tentatively, "Do you think we should talk to Sweets to-"

The psychologists name had barely left Booth's lips before Brennan was pulling away, sitting up in horror. "Booth, _no_!"

"Bones, look, Sweets is a good profiler and…the level of this guy's attachment to you, he's pretty messed up." He touched her cheek, soothingly. "Maybe Sweets'll know how you make someone this obsessive get sloppy, you know, show himself?"

Brennan's lips were pinched, her face pale in the darkness. "No. He can't know about this, none of them can. I…I told Angela because she knew about him already, for years now, but…you cannot tell _Sweets_."

"Okay," Booth agreed instantly, hearing the distress in her voice even if he couldn't see her face. "Okay, we don't have to tell any of them." He tugged on her hand, wordlessly telling her to lay back down. "It's alright."

"Thank you," she murmured, the tension alleviating from her body as she curled beside him again.

"I think we need to file a report, though," he said warily when she'd settled against him.

Brennan sighed, but she didn't sit up. "Why?"

"Because, unless he crosses state lines to…stalk, it's not FBI jurisdiction. If…when we prosecute this asshole, we're going to have to involve the locals, so…it looks better if we have a prior report."

There was a long silence, then Brennan agreed softly, "Alright."

"Don't worry…I'll make it clear they aren't to go question him until we have something to hold him on. Don't want to make him even more careful."

"Good."

Booth pressed his lips against her hairline. "I love you, Bones."

"Love you, too," she replied.

They grew quiet, then, but both lay awake for a long time, reviewing evidence or contemplating the next steps.

~(B*B)~

For the next week or so, nothing progressed, much to Booth's frustration. He filed a report with some local cops he knew, none of whom seemed happy with the federal agent ordering them how to do their jobs, basically informing them that he was filing a report as a formality, but it was _his_ case.

Booth obsessively checked any spot near their apartments or workplaces where it looked like a camera had been. He arrived to pick Brennan up from the lab an hour early and loitered across the street, trying to spot Sean Lowell.

He got nothing, yet there was another envelope of photographs left outside his apartment door.

The latest flowers, or either batch of photographs, were as free of fingerprints as everything else. The cards left were all typed.

Still no evidence. Not a glimpse of the guy since Sweets and Hodgins saw in the diner.

That night, Brennan woke up in a cold sweat, shaking from an old nightmare, to find the sheets cool and empty beside her.

"Booth?" She rasped out, not yet awake enough to conceal her panic. "Booth…"

As her surroundings cleared somewhat, Brennan could make out the sliver of light coming through the cracked bedroom door, from the living room. Her mouth going dry with irrational fear, she reached toward the bedside table, where she transferred her gun to every night, and grabbed it with shaking fingers before standing and moving toward the living room.

She moved stealthily out of the room, creeping along the edge of the wall and peering into the living room before she exhaled slowly, her lungs releasing.

Booth was sitting on the couch in the living room, hunched over something, a single lamp on as a light source. He turned around suddenly, eyebrows lifting as he saw her standing there, gun lifted.

"Don't shoot?" He joked half heartedly, his stomach twisting as he attempted to shuffle the papers in front of him, a part of him already knowing it was useless.

Her fear dissolving, Brennan's eyes flashed and she glared at him. "What the hell are you doing?" She put the gun down on the nearest table and started toward him.

"I'm sorry," Booth started lamely. "I didn't want to wake you."

Brennan sunk beside him on the couch. "What are you…" Her voice trailed off, throat tightening.

Sean Lowell's original case file was spread out on the coffee table in front of Booth. He reached out, flipping over the pictures of Brennan that were just visible among the mess, but he wasn't quick enough.

She tugged it free, away from his grip, and stared at her sixteen year old self with a dazed expression. Then, forcefully, she slammed it face down on the table. "Why are you looking at all this?"

"I…I don't know, Bones, I just…I need to find _something_. There has to be some valid, legal reason I can get this guy thrown back in jail and it's just…it's _not fair that there isn't!"_

His voice came out louder, angrier than he'd intended, and Brennan instantly touched her hand to his back, fingers stroking his tight muscles. Booth rubbed a hand over his face, sighing shakily, and then leaned his head briefly against Brennan's. "Sorry," he muttered.

"No, it's okay…" She paused. "I know it's bad, Booth. You don't have to pretend for me."

"It's not _bad_, Bones, it's…it's just frustrating." He straightened, forcing himself to smile at her. "I'm going to get him, Bones, I just…I just wish it was easier. Guys like this…they don't deserve to be walking around."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and Booth reached out and grabbed Brennan's hand.

"I hate him," Booth said suddenly, his voice rough. "I hate him _so much_, Bones."

"I know."

"I want him to pay, I want to pay so much more than he did in prison but…but I can't even get him for _this_. We _know_ it's him, we _know_ he wants to try something but we just…we can't _prove it_." He paused, sucking air.

"We will," Brennan told him quietly, assuring _him_ for once, understanding for the first time just how important this was to Booth as well as her. She remembered what Angela said, about letting Booth take care of her. "You _will_, Booth."

He squeezed her hand, nodding hard. "I will."

They sat for awhile in the silence, until Booth broke it abruptly. "Bones, can you drive yourself to the lab tomorrow?"

She sat up to look at him, confused. He'd been insisting on dropping her off recently. "I…of course."

"I'm going to leave now…I'm gonna go to his apartment building and wait for him to come out. And then…I'm going to follow him."

"Booth, what if-"

"No, Bones," he said firmly. "This ends now. He's sending photos of you every other day, he's obviously following you…I catch him at it, with a camera, and we got him."

Slowly, Brennan nodded. "I can see the logic in that." She paused, expression uncertain. "You have to go _now_?"

He nodded, kissing her softly before standing up. "I'm ending this," he said again, voice firm. Brennan followed him into the bedroom, watching as he pulled on clothes, forgoing the suit for more casual clothes. "Don't worry, Bones, I won't let him hurt you."

"I'm not worried."

"Lunch with Angela today, right?" Without waiting for an answer, Booth told her, "Don't go anywhere alone, alright?

"Booth-"

"_Promise_ me." He paused, looking at Brennan imploringly. "Just in case."

"I promise."

"Thank you." He kissed her, fiercely, leaning his forehead against hers briefly when he pulled away. "I love you."

"Please be careful, Booth," she told him in response.

"Don't worry about me." Booth gave her a smile, laced with determination. "It's almost over Bones."

~(B*B)~

Booth had memorized Sean Lowell's mug shot, and though it had been taken twenty years ago, he had no doubt that he'd recognize the guy. You couldn't hate someone so deeply and not know his face.

He parked on the street; the building was old and run down, and Booth was able to see both the front and side entrances. It wasn't even five a.m., but he felt wide awake as he settled back in his car, completely alert as he fixed his gaze on the building, waiting.

The sun rose. People began exiting and entering the building. Booth called Hacker's secretary to let his boss know he was 'looking into a lead on something'.

The time Brennan typically arrived at the lab came and went. Booth checked in with her, made sure she was there.

It took six hours, and Booth was having to force himself not to drift off, before it happened.

A man exited, a hat on his head, his face turned away from Booth's car. Still, Booth knew. His muscles tightened, body stiffening, and he stared at the hunched figure, waiting for confirmation.

He got one glimpse of the face. The weathered face and graying hair couldn't disguise him; it was Sean Lowell.

Booth cranked the car, surprised by the force of the anger that surged alive in him, his hands tightening on the wheel, his foot literally shaking with the desire to slam on the gas pedal, to flatten this man against the pavement and be done with him.

Still, he made himself wait until Sean Lowell pulled out in an ancient blue pickup truck and started down the road.

Booth followed at a reasonable distance, sudden lightheaded and dizzy. He had to force himself to keep the car slow, distanced from Lowell's.

Had to keep himself from giving into an instinct, from turning on his siren and guiding this guy to some clearing, finishing him off, quick and easy. Ending it all, for good.

Booth got caught behind a red light, and he lost sight of Lowell. Again, he resisted the urge for the sirens; he couldn't make his presence known.

He stared around, having been so fixated on keeping himself from doing something rash that he hadn't noticed the direction they were driving.

They were dangerously close to the street where the diner was.

As soon as the light switched to green, Booth slammed his foot on the gas, driving for several minutes before he was turning onto the street.

Brennan's car was parked across the street from the diner, easily in view if Sean had driven by here. She'd recently forgone her avoidance of the diner, out of some defiant need to prevent Sean Lowell from keeping her from living her life as usual.

Booth slowed in the middle of the street. He didn't see the pickup anywhere, but he didn't expect to. He scanned the surroundings, looking for a prime photography spot.

Then, he saw Sean Lowell rounding the corner, heading down the sidewalk to the diner.

Booth swerved into a parking spot, and jumped out of the car, the blood pounding in his head. He braced his hands on the cars on either side of him, physically stopping himself from running at this guy.

He had to wait. He had to have a reason.

Sean stopped a few yards away from the diner windows, staring inside.

He reached into his jacket pocket, and withdrew a camera.

Booth started to run, across the street, one hand already on his gun.

"FBI, you're under arrest," he yelled, breathless. He didn't miss the flicker of recognition on Sean Lowell's face before it melded into a look of utter confusion as he held up his hands.

"There a problem?"

Booth wrenched the camera from Sean's grasp, shoving him against the side of the building with as much force as he was allowed. "Sean Lowell, you're under arrest for harassment and aggravated stalking."

"I have no idea what you're talking about-"

"The fuck you don't," Booth snarled, up against the man's ear, not loosening his grip. "I know what you did. I know what you did to her you sick son of a bitch."

Instantly, Sean dropped the pretense. Calmly, as though half his face wasn't rubbing brick, he said, "Then you know I paid for my crime. Whether or not you think it's sufficient…I'm a free man."

Booth had a hold on the back of his head, and he pulled back slightly and slammed it against the wall. His hands were physically itching, to hurt this man more, to cause more pain.

"You'll never pay for what you did, far as I'm concerned. If it were up to me…you'd have been dead a long time ago." He snapped the handcuffs around Sean's wrists with as much force as he could manage. "Luckily for me, though, you weren't smart enough to _let it go_."

"Booth?"

Booth froze instantly, looking up at the sound of Angela's voice.

She and Brennan had just exited the diner and were standing frozen on the sidewalk.

Booth's eyes snapped instantly to Brennan, who was staring at Sean with a stricken expression, her eyes huge and terrified.

The look on her face brought to mind the photographs in the file, her voice on the tape.

"Bones…" he murmured, wanting to tell her to go back inside, to not even be in Sean's presence.

Sean, though, turned his head with difficult, and a slow smile spread. "Temperance. Finally. We meet again."

A growl rose from Booth's throat and in the next second Sean was on the ground, thrown down unceremoniously, his handcuffed hands making it impossible for him to catch himself. Booth bent next to him, driving his knee into the older man's back.

"Do _not_ fucking say her name," Booth spat, every syllable vibrating with fury. "Don't _look_ at her, don't even fucking _think_ about her."

"You're making a mistake," Sean grunted out. "I haven't done anything."

Ignoring him, Booth glanced back over his shoulder. Brennan was still staring, frozen, looking like she might pass out. "Ange, get her out of here. Now," he commanded firmly.

Somehow, this directive seemed to get through to Brennan. Her voice faint, she asserted, "I'm coming with you."

"Go back to the lab."

"I'm coming with you, Booth," Brennan repeated, voice slightly stronger.

"Let her come," Sean choked out from below. "You know me, Temperance, you know they're wrong."

Booth drove his knee harder into Sean's back. "What did I _say_?" He looked back at Brennan. "I'm taking him to the Hoover, okay, Bones?" He paused. "Angela can drive you there."

"Come on, Sweetie," Angela, pale and shaky, tugged on her best friend's arm. "We'll meet him there."

Brennan allowed herself to be led across the parking lot, though her eyes never left Booth and Sean.

"You have the right to remain silent…"

~(B*B)~

"What are you saying?" Booth said, his voice low to keep himself from yelling.

Michael Adamson, Sean's parole officer, shrugged. They were standing outside an interrogation room, where Sean was waiting, handcuffed inside, with his lawyer, Christina Shaw.

"I'm saying you're lucky she's not looking into brutality," Michael told Booth bluntly. "Sean says you threw him to the ground, unprovoked. Even probable cause for arrest…"

"He was outside the damn building with a camera," Booth shot back. "She's been getting photos and videos of someone following her and…he parked a block away so he could do it!"

"No photos on the camera," Michael reminded him, unnecessarily. He narrowed his eyes. "You should have told me what was going on last week. I had a right to know he was under suspicion, I could've given you information-"

"Yeah, you seem real eager to help me out here, _Mike_." Booth brushed past him and entered the interrogation room.

"You ready to talk to me, Sean?" Booth demanded, returning to his place across the table.

"I pulled out my camera because I was looking for my phone in my pocket," the man repeated mildly for the probably the tenth time. "I've been a frequent customer of the diner. I had no idea Temperance was inside."

"Why'd you move to D.C. in the first place?" Booth demanded. "Seems like an odd choice to me, getting out of jail in Ohio."

"My wife's lived here for the past ten years," Sean replied evenly. "They allowed me to be set up with a parole officer here."

"Your wife, huh?" Booth arched an eyebrow. "No record of you living with her. So you can see how I might be suspicious."

"We're reconciling. Working through things."

Again, Booth felt his chest tighten in rage. "_Things_, huh? Things like you raping a _sixteen_ year old girl?"

"Agent Booth," Christina Shaw said coolly, affecting the look of bored condescension he so hated in lawyers. "If there was any evidence connecting my client to the photos and videos you mentioned, I'm certain he would have heard from you by now. You've no cause to hold him."

Booth leaned on his fist, shifting his murderous gaze, for the first time, from Sean to the lawyer. "You were his lawyer the first time around, right?"

"I was."

"So you know what he did," Booth told her, his eyes blazing. "You know what he did and you tried to get him out of it. And now you're trying to keep him on the streets…"

"Agent Booth," Christina said, her voice unaffected. "You're the angry boyfriend of Mr. Lowell's former victim. Your anger is understandable. But you can see how it might hurt your credibility."

Booth glared at her, hating her, hating that she was right, hating himself for not being able to wait until the man took a single picture….and, more than anything, hating Sean Lowell.

He ignored the lawyer, leaning close to Sean's face, glaring. "You sent flowers," he growled. "You've been following her. You took pictures, video…you just want her to know you're getting closer. You have to _know_ I'm not letting you walk out of here after that."

Sean arched an eyebrow, and repeated his line, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Booth had to step back from the table, pace the room, to stop himself from lunging at the older man's throat. "I can hold you," Booth said. "The cards in those flowers…same signature as all your letters. I can charge you. Hold you overnight…"

"Those charges are groundless," Christina said. "They'll never stick. Frankly, this is a gross abuse of power…a personal vendetta toward revenge." Her eyes flashed. "What was it Sean said that you told him….oh, yes. If it were up to you, he'd have been dead a long time ago."

Booth clenched his jaw, turning away from them. "We're done here," he growled. "Someone'll be by the take you to a holding cell."

~(B*B)~

"What happened?"

Booth had pushed his way through the interrogation booth, ignoring Michael Adamson, to where Angela and Brennan were waiting in the hallway.

Booth made a concentrated effort to force the anger and frustration off his face. He gave Brennan a weak smile. "We're holding him overnight. Gonna get a search warrant for his place, they've got some officers checking it out."

Brennan nodded, the fear from earlier still etched on her face. "The, um…the camera?"

Eyes closing briefly, Booth admitted, "It, uh…nothing was on it. No old photos."

She nodded for a long time, hearing the defeat in his voice. In a small voice, she asked, "The charges aren't sticky, are they?"

"You mean…they're not gonna stick. And…I don't know." He shook his head. "There could be all the evidence we need in his apartment. Then we'll know."

"I'm sure there's something," Angela put in reassuringly. "Copies of photos or…flower receipts. Something."

"Yeah," Booth nodded, agreeing. He pulled Brennan against him, hugging her tightly. "Something."

~(B*B)~

"Bones? You awake?"

"Yes." The answer came instantly. Booth trailed his hand up her back; he'd been able to feel her shaking.

"You okay?"

"Seeing…._him_ today…it was….worse than I expected," Brennan admitted painstakingly. "I…I wasn't ready for that."

"You won't be seeing him at all for much longer, Bones," he told her firmly.

"I want to go with you tomorrow. When you get the search warrant," Brennan's voice was determinately brave, and Booth pulled her closer to him.

"Bones, I'm not even going…they're turning him over the local cops…say it's not my jurisdiction," Booth's tone was bitter. "I'll be giving them hell, trust me, but…it's not my investigation."

"Oh." Brennan paused. "He's going to walk, isn't he?"

"I don't know," Booth said honestly, his stomach twisting. This was his fault; he'd failed her. Moved too quickly, and who knows what this guy would do now that he was free.

Booth threaded his fingers through Brennan's hair, closing his eyes and promising himself that he'd fix it.

~(B*B)~

"What do you mean, you found nothing?" Booth narrowed his eyes at the officers in front of him.

Peter Jacobs and Eric Durban exchanged glances. Jacobs spoke. "Agent Booth, it looked like he barely lived there. Place was practically empty."

Booth felt Brennan's hand on his back, but he didn't look at her, not yet, not wanting to see the disappointment. "No video camera?" He demanded harshly. "No cards, no photos?"

"_Nothing_," Jacobs repeated, looking a little annoyed. "We know how to do our job, Agent."

"So what happens now?"

Eric grimaced slightly. "Now we release him."

Booth felt Brennan stiffen beside him. "_Release_ him?" Booth exploded. "What about the video tape, the flowers…"

"Agent Booth," Eric reminded him. "When you filed your report you specifically told us not to question Mr. Lowell because there was nothing connecting him to the evidence at that point. Well, there still isn't. We don't have enough to indict him and…honestly, the circumstances of his arrest don't bode in our favor."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Booth demanded, disguising panic with anger.

"It means it doesn't make _you_ look good," Jacobs answered shortly. "We don't have a choice here, Booth. Nothing to back up the charges."

He disappeared toward the holding cell. Eric lingered for a moment, his eyes sliding from Brennan to Booth. "My advice would be to file a restraining order…Judge Evans issues the search warrant, he knows the situation…."

Booth cannot bring himself to murmur a thank you as the officer disappears.

For the first time, Booth turned to look at Brennan. Her face was set, expression resolutely impassive. His, though, was stricken. "Bones, I'm so sorry…."

"Hey…" Instantly, she stepped toward, reaching for him, wrapping a hand around the nape of his neck. "It's not your fault."

"I messed it up," Booth's voice cracked; he was shaking. Brennan immediately wrapped her arms around him.

"It's alright," she murmured again, and they held onto each other until footsteps sounded from behind them.

The officers were back, leading Sean Lowell next to the booking desk. Booth felt Brennan's hand wrap around his wrist, gripping tightly, and he stepped in front of her, shielding her from view.

Officer Jacobs undid Lowell's handcuffs. Sean smiled over at them. "Hope to see you soon, Temperance. "

Some final thread in Booth seemed to snap, and he advanced on the man, his hands clenching into fists even though he couldn't use them. "Hear me on this," he snarled, his face inches from Lowell's. "You touch her, you come _near _her…I will _kill_ you. _That _you can trust me on."

Booth's rage was so strong in that moment that he was only dimly aware of Officer Durban pulling him away, of Brennan saying his name, of Sean Lowell's soft laugh as he left the station.

~(B*B)~

For three days, not much happened. Brennan filed for a temporary restraining order, using her and Booth's personal connections to bring a form to a judge directly, avoiding open court.

There would be a hearing in twenty days to expand it, but Booth had no intention of letting this go on that long.

There were two hang up phone calls, but no other evidence that Sean Lowell was continuing his stalking.

Neither of them relaxed; the break in the pattern just made them more uneasy, as though something bigger was coming.

One night, three days after Sean was released, they'd gone back to stay at her apartment. It had been weeks, and it was clear Booth's wasn't any more off of Sean's radar.

Besides, Brennan was determined not to adjust her normal behavior for him. She would not let him scare her away from places, to alter her life as though she was sixteen years old and someone he could control.

Booth was in the guest room, putting sheets on the bed for when Parker joined them that weekend, when there was a knock on the door.

Brennan tensed instantly, and it took her a moment to stand up and walk over. She peered through the peephole, and instantly the air evaporated from her lungs.

Sean Lowell was standing in the hallway.

For a moment, fear paralyzed her. She turned her back to the door, eyes darting, looking wildly for a phone.

Instead, she saw her purse, sitting on the coffee table; her gun still inside.

Suddenly, a strange sense of calm overtook her.

She had no reason to be scared of this man. As she'd told Booth and Angela many times, he was no match for her anymore. He couldn't hurt her. _She_ could do plenty of damage.

She wasn't going to cower in her apartment like a child. She wasn't going to call the police as if she was helpless. She was far more capable than any cop.

Besides, he was violating the restraining order. And his parole. If she left him outside, he could run, and they'd have no way to prove he'd been there. But if she let him….they'd have him.

She opened the door.

"Temperance." He smiled, as though delighted to see her. "So good to see you."

Just this, his voice, his smile, the cool gray eyes, threw her off, memories surging forward. Brennan took several steps back, inching toward the living, toward her purse, toward a phone. "What do you want?"

"I've been waiting so long to see you," he told her, following her inside casually. "And I feel like we got off on the wrong foot the other day. Just wanted to set things right."

Brennan's defensive training, all her skills, seemed suddenly impossible. She couldn't think. His voice was making her dizzy. She strained her ears, listening. "Booth!"

"Oh, don't call him and spoil it," Sean reached out, touching her arm, and just like that instinct returned, and Brennan's elbow was colliding with his jaw, her foot slamming into his shin."

"Bones, what…?"

Booth's voice, from the doorway of the bedroom, through her off just long enough for Sean to straighten up…and send his fist flying against her face.

Booth let out a strangled roar of anger, flying at them, but by the time he crossed the room, Brennan had Sean's arm twisted behind his back, his face against the kitchen table.

Still, when Booth got a look at her, her right cheekbone a fiery red, he could see her eyes were wide with fear, in spite of having him completely under her control.

Booth went to where his holster was hanging, grabbing both his gun and his handcuffs before returning to Brennan's side. His voice dangerously quiet, he told her, "Let him go. I got him."

Gratefully, Brennan let go, stumbling backwards as Booth jerked Sean to a standing position, his hand still holding the other man's arm behind his back. "What did I _tell_ you about touching her?" Booth snarled in his face. "What did I _say_?"

"I never wanted to hurt Temperance," Sean stated calmly. "She asks for it."

At that, Booth drove his knee into Sean's stomach. Abruptly, he let go of the doubled over man, aiming his gun and ordering, "Step back, take three steps back. _Now_." Booth knew, somehow, that if he kept a hold on Sean for another second he'd strangle him with his bare hands. Never removing his fiery eyes from Sean's face, Booth said, "Bones, call 911."

Everything was rushing at Booth, the file, the hospital reports, the audio tape of Brennan's interview, the photos of her beaten body. How scared she'd looked then, and how scared he made her look even now.

"You are a sick. Poisonous. Disgusting. Bastard," Booth gritted out. "What you did to her, you should burn in hell."

"Booth…" Brennan's voice was quiet, pleading. For what, though, he didn't know. Brennan was behind him, and Booth began backing up, knowing she'd follow, some instinct wanting to put all the distance he could between Bones and Sean Lowell.

"You don't know anything," Sean told him, still maddeningly calm, his eyes darting to Brennan even as he spoke to Booth. "You don't know. She liked it. You wanted it, right, Temperance?"

"_Shut your mouth_. _Do not talk to her._"

"You thought you were too good for me, Temperance," Sean said, eyes glowing as he looked at her. "You wanted to go whore around-"

"I am warning you," Booth spoke through clenched teeth. Brennan was just behind him, her hand on his back, not moving to call the police.

"You think you're so _good_ now. You think it's better to be his whore-"

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" Booth roared, his sanity slipping, Brennan's voice murmuring his name, her voice on the tape playing in his head.

_He raped me he raped me he raped me…_

"It makes me sad, Temperance. If I'd have stayed around, you wouldn't have become an FBI agents filthy little slut….let me show you how it's done-" He started toward her, his hand out, two steps forward, his hand out….

And then Booth squeezed the trigger twice, two gunshots piercing the atmosphere around them.

Sean collapsed on the ground, clutching his stomach. His mouth opened and closed, trying to scream, blood bubbling out instead of sound.

For a long, still moment, silence screamed around them.

"Oh, God…." Booth said finally, his voice strangled. His voice was empty of air. "Oh, God…"

Brennan's mouth was open, her whole body shaking. Booth was frozen, his face ashen. She reached out, gently prying the gun from his hand, touching his arm. "Booth…Booth…"

Sean's face was paper white, his body quaking. His own hands splayed across the wound, across his lungs, as he took rattling, liquid breaths.

"I…oh, God." Booth whispered.

"It's okay," Brennan said dazedly, some instinct driving her words.

Her mind was working again, processing the evidence.

She realized Sean was unarmed. That he'd been subdued.

She thought of her restraining order. She thought of Booth's threat to kill Sean Lowell, made in front of two police officers. She touched her free hand, the one not clutching Booth's gun, to her cheek, already tender and swollen. She thought of Parker. Of Booth's job.

Most of all, she thought about the fact that he'd done this for _her_.

She curled her finger around the trigger of Booth's gun, stroking it lightly, her brain still processing, thinking about the forensics, reconciling them. Distance from Sean, anytime they'd touched him, Booth's gun.

"Booth, it's okay," she told him again. "It'll…it'll be alright I'm just…I'm going to call."

Booth didn't move. He was staring down at the dying man, unable to be sorry for what he'd done, but sick to his stomach as the implications rang in his ears.

It took a focused effort for Brennan to keep her voice steady. "Yes, this is an emergency. This is Dr. Temperance Brennan. A man has been shot….it could be fatal."

"What's the address?" The voice on the phone asked.

"456 Beacon Street. Apartment 307."

"There's a gunshot victim?"

"Yes. We need an ambulance at that address." Booth turned around and looked her suddenly, his eyes wild.

"Who shot the man?"

Brennan paused, holding Booth's gaze. Then, swallowing, her voice steady, she said, "It was me. I shot him."

~(B*B)~

_What did you think? Let me know. Review away. _


	5. Hero

_Author's Note:__ Hey, guys. Sure you thought I'd dropped off the face of the earth after a two week gap. I may have mentioned I'm working on a documentary, and it's on a play happening on campus…the opening night of which was Thursday. So for the past two weeks we've been shooting six or seven hours a day of dress rehearsals and set designs and everything, so it's been crazed. Add in the fact that it was midterm time, I barely had time to write._

_But we've wrapped filming now. And next week is pretty tame, and the week following that is spring break, so updates will be much more regular from now on. Sorry again for a wait, and you guys are awesome for sticking with me. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!_

Chapter Four

_I'm the hero of the story  
I don't need to be saved_

"Is he dead?" Brennan asked, her voice strangely calm.

Booth was staring at her with a horrified expression. "Bones, what…" his voice was hoarse, unsteady. "What'd you do…"

"Is he _dead_?" She repeated, slightly louder. "Because if he isn't…" Brennan's voice faltered. "Booth, _is_ he dead?"

Booth still stood, frozen, staring at Brennan in shock.

Finally, Brennan walked past him, bending over Sean's body. The man's eyes had gone glassy, blood no longer bubbling from his lips. She pressed two fingers against his neck. "He's dead…" She straightened up. "We won't be able to cheat forensics. The distance...I can say he was shoved back. He was moving, which is good, we can say he was coming at me when I shot him-

Booth took a step toward her, his eyes wild. "Bones…_you didn't shoot him at all._ Why….why would you say that?"

"We need to corroborate our statements…we should say you saw as little as possible, maybe came in just in time to see the shooting, that way it shouldn't -"

"_No_," Booth's voice was harsh. "Bones-"

"It would be best to keep it simple…when he knocked on the door, I grabbed your gun since it was close-"

"Bones."

"He attacked me, I subdued him, he broke free and came forward again-"

"Just _stop_!" He was yelling, suddenly. "_No_, Bones. _I _shot him, I…I killed him. _That_ is what happened." He paused, swallowing, his eyes flashing. "And I'm not sorry."

Brennan met his eyes , holding his gaze as she moved forward, touching his arm. "Neither am I," she replied quietly. "But legally, what you did…if I say I killed him, it is self defense. He got physically violent, he violated a restraining order-"

Booth was already shaking his head, "No, now way…"

Reaching out, Brennan put a hand on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. "Booth. You could go to jail. But with the evidence, I would be acquitted, it's the logical choice-"

"I am _not_ letting you take the fall for this," Booth said softly, his voice strained. "I will _not_."

Her voice was soft. "You don't have a choice, Booth."

"I _do_-"

"I already said I shot him," Brennan reminded him, her tone half apologetic, half defiant. "Those calls are recorded, Booth, it'll be entered into evidence and…it's too late."

Booth's face twisted slightly, comprehension dawning on his features. He took a step back from her, his eyes widening. "You…you…"

"You were in the back room when he came in," Brennan continued, averting her eyes, unable to look at the expression on Booth's face. Her voice was automatic, almost mechanical, desperate to conceal her fear. "You came through the doorway just as he was coming at me, and I shot him… "

"You _didn't_ shoot him," Booth gritted out. "Bones, you…you didn't!" He ran a hand over his face, staring at her like he didn't quite recognize her. "The truth, Bones, you always say the truth is the most important-"

"The truth," Brennan said firmly. "Is that you do not deserve to go to jail, and I won't _let_ you."

His eyes pained, Booth looked at her, opening his mouth to speak, to protest, but suddenly there was a knock on the door.

"Paramedics!"

Booth clenched his jaw, panic descending, the inability to protest paralyzing him. Brennan brushed passed him, toward the door, muttering, "Booth, please trust me." She paused. His expression, horrorstruck and almost betrayed, made her feel an inexplicable need to apologize. Instead, she merely whispered, "I love you."

Then she was opening the door, letting in the paramedics, followed by the police; all the while Booth was dimly aware of what had been set in motion, and how quickly he had lost control of it all.

~(B*B)~

In what felt like mere moments, Brennan's apartment had filled with cops and detectives. There was an outline where Lowell's body had been; he'd been taken off in an ambulance, a formality so a doctor could declare him officially dead.

"Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan…I don't know if you remember me, I'm Detective Ben Kinley…" Booth nodded once, curtly; he'd met the man on a few local cases. The detective's cool, green eyes met Brennan's . "Is there somewhere we could go and talk?"

Booth's heart was hammering, the truth forming in his throat. Brennan, though, just nodded, calmly. "Right back here," she told him, pointing vaguely toward the bedroom. Booth started to follow, but the detective held out a hand to stop him. "We'll come get you in a few minutes, Agent."

So, helplessly, Booth watched Brennan show the detective toward the guest bedroom; Kinley motioned at someone across the room, and Booth clenched his jaw as he saw Peter Jacobs, the cop who'd been obviously skeptical of Booth arresting Lowell, going after them.

The door to the guest room clicked shut behind them, and Booth's stomach lurched. Brennan was giving them a statement, a statement he would be expected to corroborate, and he'd officially passed the point of no return.

~(B*B)~

Brennan sat gingerly on the edge of the guest bed, Detective Kinley and Officer Jacobs hovering over her. There was a tape recorder in Jacobs' hand, and Brennan shivered slightly as the tape whirred, thinking of making a statement on tape, all those years ago, about what Sean Lowell had done to her.

Now, she would be required to speak about something she'd done to him.

"I was in the living room when he knocked on the door. Booth wasn't with me, he was in the back of the apartment. I went to answer the door, checked the peephole, and it was Sean Lowell." Brennan's hands were folded in front of her, her fingernails cutting half moons into the opposite knuckles. Still, she kept her voice slow and even, as though she was merely reciting her findings in the lab. "Booth's holster was hanging by the door, and I grabbed his gun and his handcuffs before I opened the door. I put the cuffs in my pocket."

"You knew it was Sean Lowell when you went to the door?"

"I…I thought it might be." Brennan paused, glancing away. "I don't put much credence in…instinct, but I had a feeling."

"Once you saw it was him, why did you open the door?" Detective Kinley's voice was cool, detached.

"He was violating his TRO," Brennan's gaze flickered coolly to Jacobs. "We had been told before there wasn't enough evidence to hold Sean on harassment charges. If we were able to prove he was violating the restraining order, there would be cause for arrest."

"He was violating the restraining order just by being within five hundred feet of you."

"Yes, but if I didn't answer the door, he could have easily left before the police arrived."

Kinley's expression didn't change. "What happened next?"

"I opened the door. I stepped back; he said it was good to see me. He came forward and touched my arm, so I fought him off."

"How?"

"I elbowed him in the mandible, and kicked him in the fibia," she recited. This was the truth. "I called for Booth, and he hit me."

"Where?"

She fixed the detective with a glare, and touched her cheek. "In the zygomatic. As you can see."

The two men were stone faced, and there was a flash of annoyance in Jacobs' eyes every time she used a scientific term. "Go on."

"I immobilized his arm by twisting it behind his back, and I shoved him against the kitchen table." Brennan paused, but they didn't interrupt. "He pulled away and I shoved him back and started backing away myself. He came at me again and…I'd kept Booth's gun in my hand, so I shot him."

"You shot him."

"Yes." She swallowed, forcing herself to hold their eyes. "Twice."

"Was Booth in the room at that point?"

"I didn't turn around and see him until a few seconds after I'd shot Sean," Brennan said carefully. "I don't know exactly when he came in."

Detective Kinley was squinting at her, and for a long moment he was quiet. Finally, he said, "Dr. Brennan, it sounds like you were able to effectively defend yourself."

Jaw tightening, Brennan went quiet for a moment. "Yes," she said finally. "But he was able to get away."

"You say you had Booth's handcuffs in your pocket. You didn't try to handcuff him when you pinned him to the table?"

"He pulled away very quickly."

"You didn't think you would be able to restrain him again?"

"I…" Brennan's throat had narrowed, tightening her hands in her lap. She had to be a better actress, a better _liar_, than she ever had in the past. This was too important. "I…I didn't know. It all happened so quickly, and…I wasn't able to hold him, he kept coming at me, he'd shown up at my home…" To Brennan's embarrassment, there was a note of real distress in her voice.

"You opened the door," Kinley reminded her. "Did he have a weapon?"

"No," she admitted tersely.

"Had you ever known him to use a weapon in the past?"

Brennan inhaled slowly, shakily. "No. But I was sixteen years old, and living in his house." She met his eyes, defiantly. "He hardly needed one."

The detective ignored that, merely asking, "You let Sean in your apartment, saw he was unarmed…but you felt like your life was in immediate danger?"

"Yes," Brennan answered in a low, tight voice. "He attacked me." She glanced at Jacobs. "And I've given a full report of the incidents from the past several weeks, as well as his letters from his entire prison term. So _yes_." Her voice wavered slightly. "I felt like my life was threatened. Tonight, _and_ ever since he got out of prison."

The officers exchanged glances, and Jacobs arched an eyebrow in his direction.

Her voice flat, Brennan added, "That's why I got the restraining order." She paused, folding her arms. "Turns out that wasn't enough."

~(B*B)~

Booth was leaning against the wall outside the bedroom, having been ordered away from the living room.

Because it was the crime scene.

He stared down at his hand, flexing unconsciously. He could still the feel the gun melded to his hand, like a phantom reminder of his guilt.

Booth was not sorry Sean Lowell was dead; he wasn't even sorry, yet, for doing what he'd wanted to do since finding about this guy.

But the point to turn back, if there had ever even been one, had passed. Now Bones was in there, doing this amazing, selfless thing for him… and he wished with everything in him that he could have stopped it.

What he hated to admit was that she was right; Booth knew the law, he knew about the evidence pointing to different modes of defense.

Bones could easily build a case around self defense, while it would be a pretty weak argument that shooting Sean Lowell was the only way he could protect Brennan.

But Booth didn't care. Sean Lowell had been unarmed. He hadn't entered with force.

There was still a chance.

The bedroom door opened and Brennan and Officer Jacobs stepped out. Jacobs jerked his head inside. "Booth. We have a few questions."

His eyes met Brennan's, and his stomach twisted. He didn't feel ready for this, he wasn't prepared. They'd only had a few minutes to talk, and he had no choice now but to go along with her story.

Brennan's fingers wrapped briefly around Booth's and squeezed as he followed Jacobs into the guest room, and Booth had a sudden, fleeting moment of understanding.

He understood why Bones had done this, for the same reason he'd hated Sean Lowell enough to kill him.

The moment passed, as Jacobs shut the door behind him. As soon as Brennan was on the other side of the door, Booth could feel his panic and anger returning.

Detective Kinley, whom Booth had never liked, made him go through redundancies about the stalking over the past few weeks. The minute, though, he started pressing for information on Brennan's past with Lowell, Booth lost his cool.

"That case, actually, has already been tried, and there's a full file that I assume you've seen. Just like there's a full report we made four days ago, what…what part of that isn't clear to you?"

Kinley arched an eyebrow slightly in disapproval. "Alright, Agent Booth. Tell us what happened."

"I was here." He waved a hand at the room. "I didn't hear the knock. I…I heard voices and I came into the living room…Sean was coming at her and Bones shot him."

"You didn't run to help?"

Booth narrowed his eyes. He reminded himself if Brennan, probably the worst liar he knew, could do this, so could he. He had bluffed in interrogations so many times.

Though he was usually on the other side of it.

"I barely had time to register Sean was there before he was on the floor." He drew a breath. "Then Bones turned around and I saw her face…" The muscles in his face tightened. "Where he hit her."

"But you didn't see that happen."

"No," Booth said firmly, eyes flashing. "I just said that." The mental image flashed through his mind; Brennan glancing back at him, already terrified, Sean hitting her when she wasn't even looking at him. "You think if I saw that I wouldn't have…"

"Wouldn't have what?" Jacobs put him. "Because…I seem to remember you threatening Lowell if he came near Dr. Brennan , you'd kill him."

There it was; one of the many reasons Brennan had stopped him from telling the truth. Booth clenched his jaw. "Was there a question there, Jacobs?"

"Just wondering if Dr. Brennan had similar thoughts."

"He came into her home. He…he's been terrorizing her for weeks, so much so that we got a restraining order. _He _broke it, he came to her home and he attacked her." Booth was seething, his eyes hard as he looked at each of the officers deliberately.

Kinley's voice was cold and even. "That's happened before, hasn't it?"

"What, Sean Lowell attacking her?" Booth was practically yelling. "Yes, it has, when she was _sixteen years old_."

"I didn't mean just Sean Lowell. You two catch criminals for a living, had several high profile cases…it's dangerous work." Kinley paused, watching Booth's face. "Surely this isn't the first time she's had to defend herself."

"No, it's not." The words barely made it through Booth's clenched teeth.

"Well, then…" Kinley nodded. "Why don't you tell us about that?"

~(B*B)~

Brennan was waiting outside when Booth and the other men emerged. Booth's face was set, his eyes glinting, and for the first time Brennan felt a flicker of nerves.

Booth came to stand next to her, sliding his hand into hers as Detective Kinley looked appraisingly at both of them.

"We're going to need the apartment…could still be a few hours."

"Of course," Booth said, his voice gruff. "We're gonna go to my place."

"Right." Kinley tapped his notepad, tone dismissive. "We'll, uh, be in touch." He paused, eyes lingering on Brennan. "Don't leave town, alright?"

Brennan's expression didn't change, but Booth fixed the detective with a stony glare and tugged gently on Brennan's hand as they started down the hallway and out of the apartment.

Booth dropped her hand in the hallway, and neither of them spoke as they walked down the stairs and across the parking lot to Booth's car.

Once inside the car, Booth leaned his elbows against the wheel, bending forward and covering his face with his hands.

Brennan was watching him, uncertain. She felt oddly detached, her mind obsessively processing evidence, assuring herself they hadn't missed anything.

When nearly a minute had passed, with Booth making no move to crank the car, Brennan tentatively murmured, "Booth-"

"Don't," he replied, muffled against his hands. "Bones, please, just…just _don't_ right now."

Confusion flickered across Brennan's face, and she turned away from him, feeling suddenly exhausted.

They sat together for another minute or so, heavy silence hovering between them. Finally, without another word, Booth fumbled with his keys, cranked the car and pulled away from the scene of his crime.

~(B*B)~

By the time they entered Booth's apartment, with Booth's silence continuing, Brennan was beginning to feel something akin to panic.

"We should probably go over our statements, Booth…if there were any discrepancies, we should be prepared to handle them…" Brennan turned slowly, uncertain. Booth sank onto the couch, raking his hands through his hair, expression stricken. "Booth, is…did something happen, did you say something wrong?" She paused; he didn't answer. "What did they ask you?"

"How…" Booth's voice came out rough and uneven; he swallowed, then began, the words coming slowly and deliberately. "How are you _so calm_?"

"I…it's going to be alright, Booth. Most of the truth could be included, and the forensics line up easily with what I told them. Did…" She stepped closer to him. "Did something happen…?"

"Did something _happen_?" Booth looked up at her, for the first time, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "Bones…_how_ could you do that?" In an instant, his voice went from a fierce whisper to a near yell. "You didn't even…I didn't have a _choice_, you just..."

"It was the most logical thing, Booth," Brennan told him, tone desperately calming. "The evidence for self-defense is strong-"

"Oh, yeah, Bones? Because they just spent half an hour asking about any suspect you ever had to defend yourself from, how every time you killed a suspect they had an actual lethal weapon…"

Brennan blinked at him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It means…it means they don't think you had to shoot Sean Lowell, Bones. They think you could've fought him off without killing him, and you know what, they're right."

"Of course they are, but that's irrelevant," Brennan said impatiently. Her face had paled slightly, but she didn't look away. "They can't _prove_ it, Booth. The fact that he violated the TRO, that he became violent, it all leads to self defense-"

"It's _not a sure thing_, Bones!" Booth stood abruptly, coming toward her. "They could easily arrest you on this-"

"I know, but-"

"There's a _chance_ they could _convict_! A _chance_." Booth's voice was shaking, and he closed his eyes briefly. "You made this decision in about two seconds and then we couldn't turn back, how…_how could you_?"

For the first time, the rational calm from Brennan's voice dissolved, and she told him thickly, "I did it for _you_, Booth."

"I _never _asked you to do that!" The volume of Booth's voice startled them both, and so did the level of both anger and fear threaded through it. "I never _wanted_ that, and I…I just had to go along with it! I can't let you take the fall for me, I can't let you risk this, but now I _don't_ _have a choice."_

For a long moment, they simply stared at her. There was genuine bewilderment in Brennan's eyes, and Booth dragged his gaze away.

"I need…I need to walk…" He turned, heading to the front door.

"Booth!" Alarmed, Brennan followed him, grabbing his arm. "I thought…I thought you'd be relieved-"

"I know you did, Bones, and I'm sorry, I…" He stilled, looking down at her, his face twisting. "I'm sorry." He gently disentangled from her grasp, walking toward the door. "I'll be back."

Then, he was gone.

~(B*B)~

Brennan stood still and silent for a full minute after the door closed behind Booth. Eventually, she raked a hand through her hair, the touch to her scalp making her realize how hard she was trembling.

Her stomach clenched, panic descending. She sucked in a deep breath, a strangled, crooked sound rising from her throat.

She genuinely didn't understand.

Booth had killed Sean Lowell for _her_. And Brennan knew him better than anyone, she understood that he would be unhappy about someone else taking responsibility for what he did. But Booth also knew the law, and he couldn't possibly argue with her logic.

His last words before disappearing from the apartment were _I'll be back_, and Brennan clung to that, forcing back her fear.

Brennan walked to the bedroom, suddenly exhausted. She pulled on one of Booth's T-shirts, softened and faded, before climbing into bed to wait for him.

Her eyes fell on the top of her dresser, across the room; Sean's case file was lying open, the papers in disarray.

And, suddenly for the first time, the legal implications, the forensic evidence, left her mind.

Sean Lowell was _dead_.

He was gone. It was finally over.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Brennan allowed herself to be grateful.

~(B*B)~

Booth's hands were clasped in front of him, his grip tight to stop them from shaking.

He felt as though the numbing shock of what he'd done, of what _Bones_ had done, was finally beginning to wear off.

There was so much about this Brennan hadn't considered; her mind had processed the evidence, the facts…as well as the fact that he was in trouble.

But she hadn't thought ahead. If she was arrested, if this went to court…everything would change.

Her past with Sean Lowell, everything Brennan had spent years trying desperately to hide, would be made public, dragged in front of her friends and thousands of strangers. The press would descend on them, running with the story that Dr. Temperance Brennan was on trial for murder.

And that was just the trial…Booth couldn't let himself think beyond that.

He wanted to be angry at Brennan, for setting this into motion, for leaving him no choice, but the truth was Booth was angry at himself.

He would never be sorry that Sean Lowell was dead. Some people didn't deserve to live, and that guy was on the top of the list of the undeserving. Booth hated the thought of Brennan living in the same _world_ as Sean Lowell, much less the same town…and now she didn't have to.

But he'd been selfish and impulsive. He'd let his hatred own him, without thinking of the consequences. Of what it might do to Bones if he paid for it, if she lost him.

Now, he might lose her.

Booth shivered, a chill crawling the length of his spine.

Immediately, he opened the door of his car, sitting static in the parking lot of his apartment building for the past hour.

He couldn't sit here, trying to convince himself to blame Brennan when this was all his fault.

~(B*B)~

Brennan was curled on her side in bed , so lost in thought she didn't hear Booth come in. His fingers threaded through her hair, and she rolled over, surprised by his sudden presence.

"I'm sorry," he told her in a hushed voice. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Instead of answering, Brennan slid over and Booth gratefully lay down beside her.

"Are you angry with me?"

Booth turned his face close to hers, absently stroking her cheekbone with one finger. "I…yeah, a little…" He sighed softly. "I'm mostly just mad at _me_, Bones. What I did was stupid…God, I just keep telling myself that it was just in the moment, you know? That it was one moment and I just lost it, but…if that's true, why didn't I just handcuff him as soon as I had him?" Booth grimaced slightly, jaw tightening. "I saw him hit you, Bones, and I just…I think I wanted a reason. And when he started saying everything, I just…I _lost_ it."

"I know."

"But I…I should have thought about what it would mean, about what it would do to you-"

"Booth-"

"No, Bones, I mean it. I was mad because…I would _never_ have wanted you to take the fall for me, but I'm the one who put you in that position-"

"Booth, I _should_ have been the one to do it," Brennan blurted out. The statement stopped Booth, and his eyebrows drew together as she continued, "I…I was scared of him. Even now, today, I was still…_so_ scared of him, Booth."

"Well," he told her, giving a soft half-smile. "For what it's worth, it looked like you had him under control."

"I know," she whispered. "I did, and I knew he couldn't really hurt me, but…" Voice trailing off, Brennan lowered her eyes.

"…but you were still scared," Booth finished for her. He wriggled forward in bed and kissed her softly, comfortingly. "It's okay."

"Everything I told the detective that I did, getting your gun and, and shooting him…Booth, I…I should have," she sighed shakily. "He was never going to leave me alone, Booth. And we were never going to get him, were we?"

"Probably not," Booth admitted quietly. "Not the way we wanted, anyway."

"You did it for me," Brennan continued. "Because I couldn't and I…I needed to do this for you."

Booth nodded a little, letting silence settle as he carefully chose his words. "I understand that," he began finally. "But I think we need to tell the truth."

"Booth, _no_."

"I _know_ it's obstruction of justice, Bones, I know that, but…I, I can talk to Kinley, work out some kind deal for you-"

Brennan sat up abruptly, shaking her head. "Booth, no. You aren't being rational-"

"It's irrational to let you _lie_, to possibly go to _trial_ for something you didn't do? _That_ doesn't sound irrational to you?"

"Not if I have the better chance of being acquitted," Brennan said firmly, the unyielding logic back in her tone. "And I do, a much better chance. Besides, if you go on trial you'll lose your job even if you _are_ acquitted. Which is _unlikely_." She gave an incredulous, breathless laugh, raking her hands through her hair. "You would only see Parker when he could visit you in _prison_, Booth! You would only see _me_…" She gave him a desperate look. "Is that what you want?"

Booth peered up at her for a long moment, then slowly sat up on the bed, never breaking eye contact. "So, what?" His voice was quiet. "I just have to sit here, and…and watch them try to send you away for this? To watch you lie for me, I…I just have to let you?"

Brennan reached out, wrapping her hand around the nape of his neck, her touch gentle. "_Yes_."

Dragging his gaze away, Booth was quiet for a moment until, with a sigh, he dropped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. In a flat voice, he said, "I'm going to find you a lawyer tomorrow." He waited; Brennan said nothing, so Booth added, "We need to be prepared in case they charge you."

Brennan recognized the statement what it was; a concession. He was giving in, accepting it. And though she was grateful, the helplessness threaded through Booth's tone made Brennan's chest ache.

"Okay," she agreed, sinking down beside him. "There may not even be an arrest."

Booth closed his eyes, letting her slide against his chest as he automatically draped an arm around her. "I know," he murmured, though his voice held no conviction.

~(B*B)~

"Didn't expect to see you here so early in the morning."

Booth lifted his head, wary. "Why? Did you…hear something?"

Carolina Julian gave him a strange look. "No, I haven't. Is there something to hear?" Booth shook his head once, and she continued, "Just that I rarely come into the building to find FBI agents who look like hell waiting for me, Cherie.

"Right…thanks for that." Booth exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. "Caroline, listen, I…we need a lawyer."

"For what case?"

"Not a case," Booth admitted. "Well, there is a case, it's just…it's not one of mine."

Carolina was quiet for a moment, giving him her familiar, shrewd look. "You gonna explain anytime soon?"

"It's Bones…" Quickly, he gave the briefest possible summary of Sean Lowell, of the past few weeks, only stumbling when he got to last night. "He came to her place, he violated the TRO, I…I wasn't in the room and he…he hit her, she fought him but he pulled away and hit her and…" He stopped talking abruptly, the bitter taste of the lie trapped in his throat.

"Sounds like an open and shut case to me, Cherie," Caroline told him finally. "He came to your place, violated a restraining order, got violent…you'll be able to lock him up."

"Not…it's not him, it's…" Booth paused, swallowing hard, forcing himself to continue. "It's Bones. She…. shot him, and…he's dead."

For a long moment, Caroline stared at him, her eyebrows high.

Booth's shoulders sagged and he gave her a pleading look. "I need help."

"_You_ need it?" Caroline repeated.

"Yeah," Booth said honestly. "I do."

Caroline nodded. "Well, Cherie, what you need is a defense attorney."

Instantly, Booth shook his head, protesting, "No, Caroline, we need you to do it, we…you agreed to defend Bones once before, remember, remember New Orleans?"

"That's because you told me she didn't do it. This…Booth, this sounds _messy_. Proving self defense..you need an experienced defense lawyer."

"I don't trust defense lawyers," Booth retorted heatedly. He sighed, making one last appeal, "I trust _you_."

Caroline considered him for a long moment, then wordlessly reached into her desk drawer and extracted a pen and paper. "I'm going to give you a name…"

"Caroline-"

She ignored him, typing something into her computer before continuing to write. "…and a number." With a flourish, Caroline ripped the paper from her pad and handed it to him. "This is my absolute least favorite defense attorney in D.C." Caroline arched an eyebrow. "That means the _best_ defense attorney in DC."

Booth looked at Caroline's outstretched hand for a long moment before finally taking the paper, muttering his thanks.

~(B*B)~

Brennan barely murmured her good mornings, her head ducked as she swept by her friends on her way to her office.

Angela, though, had been watching Brennan closely ever since Booth's failed arrest on Sean Lowell, so Brennan wasn't surprised when her best friend caught her by the arm while she tried to brush past. "Sweetie, slow down, say good morn-" As Brennan reluctantly turned to look at her, though, Angela gasped. "Oh my God, Brennan, what _happened_?"

The outburst drew Cam and Hodgins' attention, both of them looking up from their stations. Cam's eyebrows lifted instantly, and she came closer to get a better look. "Oh, _God_…"

Her cheeks flushing, Brennan tilted her head slightly so her hair fell over her cheek. Still, she knew it couldn't obscure the swollen, dark purple skin of her cheek.

Frowning, Angela reached out and brushed Brennan's hair out of the way, her eyes warm with concerned as she scrutinized the tender bruise. "Sweetie, what…?"

"It was an accident," Brennan said smoothly. She'd rehearsed this in the car, having decided in the car that she wouldn't tell them anything until she knew for sure she'd have to. "We were playing soccer with Parker, and I was behind him…he threw his head back and…" she waved a hand vaguely at her face. "It's fine."

"You had Parker on a week night?" Cam asked.

"Rebecca had an emergency at work, we had to pick him up from practice," Brennan recited, almost too quickly.

"Kid's got a hard head," Hodgins commented with a grin. "Bet he felt bad."

"He did," Brennan replied. "But…I…assured him that I was fine. And I am. Okay?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued on toward her office.

~(B*B)~

"I'm, uh…I'm Seeley Booth." The receptionist, who was busily texting and barely cut her eyes at him. "I have an appointment."

"Alex is expecting you," the girl mumbled around a wad of gum. "You can go on in."

Nodding, Booth walked past the reception's desk and through the door of the office.

For some reason, he was surprised to see the figure behind the desk. He'd read the name and assumed it was a man; but Alex Bennett turned out to be a woman, around his own age. As he entered, she lifted large, dark eyes and pinned him with a shrewd gaze. "Mr. Booth?"

"Agent," he corrected automatically, then felt foolish for doing so. Alex arched an eyebrow, wariness flashing instantly in her eyes.

"Take a seat," she told Booth, watching him carefully as he did. "What can I do for you, _Agent_?"

"I was hoping to hire you," he said brusquely, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and awkward. As well as he knew the law and the justice system, Booth had never had to approach it from this side before, and he had no idea how to handle it.

Alex waited for him to continue; when he didn't, she smirked slightly. "Hope you aren't planning on asking me to switch sides."

"No, I…I need a defense attorney…Caroline Julian gave me your name."

Alex let out a short laugh of surprise. "Well, _that's_ a first. I don't get many clients sent to me by federal prosecutors."

Booth inhaled slowly, raising his head and fixing her with a hard, serious look. He handed her one of the folders he'd come in with; Sean Lowell's case folded from years ago.

Wordlessly, Alex took it, scanning the first, summarizing page, obviously noting the sentence and convictions: child abuse, neglect, rape. She glanced up at Booth and said dryly, "Looks like it's little late to be bringing me in on this one."

"Sean Lowell was shot and killed last night," Booth informed her flatly.

The smirk fell away from Alex's face, a focused, businesslike expression taking its place. "You're under suspicion?"

"Not me, my…" Booth paused; as always, the term _girlfriend_ seemed inadequate and overly trivial to describe what he had with Brennan. "…my partner. And girlfriend, we're…we're together." He nodded at the file. "Dr. Temperance Brennan." He saw the flash of recognition, but Alex said nothing. "He was her foster father."

He had Alex's full attention now; Booth passed her the other file he'd brought along, this one much slimmer. "This is a report we filed with the local authorities last week, as well as information on my recent arrest of Sean Lowell."

As Alex skimmed the folder, Booth gave her the same condensed version of events he'd given Caroline. He'd lost track of how many times he'd told the lie now, but it wasn't getting any easier.

"She already spoke to the police?" Those were Alex's first words when he finished, and Booth could hear the disapproval threaded through her tone.

He bristled instantly. "_Yes._ Refusal to cooperate with the police tends to look _bad _with a self defense case."

"Not the only possible defense," Alex said mildly, eyes flitting back to the folder in her hand. "I'd have preferred to have options."

"He broke a restraining order. He came to her home. He _hit_ her." Booth gritted out through clenched teeth. "It was _self defense_."

"I'll take a look at the statement and decide." Alex replied mildly.

Booth stood up, abruptly, his face hardening. "I think we're just wasting each other's time."

Alex eyed him challengingly, unbothered. "Agent Booth, you don't like me. I understand that; you're law enforcement, and to you, I'm the enemy. But I really don't care how you feel about me, or my profession. And you shouldn't either." She raised an eyebrow in Booth's direction. "All you should care about is that I'm damn good at my job. And I can get an acquittal." Booth visibly hesitated, and Alex continued, "But you're an FBI agent. You know this process. And if you're hiring a lawyer, there must be a good reason to suggest you'll need one. So you need to tell me what I need to know so I can be prepared."

Slowly, Booth lowered himself back into the chair. "Bones is…she's trained in, like, three kinds of martial arts. She's got previous assault charges, and one arrest for shooting a suspect in the leg…he was unarmed, and she wasn't convicted."

Alex made a note of something, her expression impassive. "Anything else?"

Booth continued in a low voice, "She's had to kill before, on the job, but…they were both armed." His mind flashed briefly to Pam Nunan and Howard Epps' accomplice. "There was…_obvious_ lethal threat. Any other time she could…fight them off." He set his jaw. "They think she could have fought Lowell. They think she didn't have to kill him." His chest tightened; saying it out loud, admitting the holes in Brennan's story, only intensified his guilt and fear.

"Alright," Alex's voice had softened somewhat. "You know, it's usually the client who hires me."

"I told her I'd take care of it."

"I'll like to meet with her as soon as possible. Just so I've talked to both of you…"

"We can both stop by later tonight."

Alex flipped open a scheduling book on her desk, glancing down at it. "Six thirty alright with you?"

"Sure," Booth muttered. This was all so surreal.

"Great, then I'll see you then," Alex told him briskly. "Unless you have any more questions?"

Booth smiled humorlessly. "No. I know exactly how this is going to work."

Alex pursed her lips, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear before replying mildly, "Right, I guess you do."

~(B*B)~

Brennan glanced at her watch. It was after five. Another hour or so, and Booth would be picking her up to meet with her new lawyer.

All day, she'd been trying to convince herself that there wouldn't be an arrest, that this wouldn't go to trial.

The alternative made her anxious, and she couldn't let Booth see that.

Brennan had worked out last night that Booth's guilt would be the worst part of this. Brennan knew it would take a long time for Booth to forgive himself for even putting her through a trial.

Still, she'd rather Booth beating himself up than going to jail.

Brennan was on the forensic platform, bent over a set of bones that needed authenticating; Cam was somewhere behind her filling out forms.

"Bren, Sweetie?" Angela touched Brennan's arm, smiling as Brennan turned around to look at her. "We're heading home, gotta relieve the nanny."

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow," Brennan murmured distractedly.

Angela lowered her voice, wary of Hodgins waiting for her not far behind them. "You'll let me know if anything else happens, right?"

Brennan's hands stilled over her work, and she took a moment before answering, "I will."

Suddenly, Hodgins' voice sounded from behind them, "Who called the cavalry?"

Lifting her head, Brennan's chest froze. Detective Kinley, flanked by two police officers, was heading toward them on the forensic platform.

Brennan was aware, suddenly, of her friends' presence, crowded around the platform, all alert and staring now as the police got closer.

Part of Brennan was screaming at her to get away from them, her friends, to meet the police halfway to go willingly and beg them to wait until they got outside to use the handcuffs.

But the bigger part of her, the part that was rational to a fault, knew that would be useless. She couldn't keep Sean Lowell, any of it, from them anymore.

Except, of course, the truth about who killed him.

"Dr. Brennan," Kinley's voice was low and impersonal. "We have a warrant for your arrest."

With those words, Brennan felt herself detach. A chorus of incredulous "_What_?"'s sounded from her friends, and Angela's hand closed automatically around Brennan's arm, gripping tightly, but all Brennan could think was that Booth was supposed to be coming to get her, that they had a meeting….

"I think there's been a mistake…" Cam was crossing toward them, her authoritative tone in place.

Hodgins' scowled at them, crossing his arms. "You need _probable cause_ for an arrest…"

The officers ignored both of them as Kinley continued, one of the policemen pulling out handcuffs. "You're under arrest for the murder of Sean Lowell."

"Brennan?" The pitch of Angela's voice was climbing, her grip tightening as the officers turned Brennan, pulling her away as they took hold of her hands, causing Hodgins to yell something about police brutality. "Brennan…"

"You have the right to remain silent…" They began leading her off the platform, the cool metal of the handcuffs rubbing against her wrists.

"_Brennan_," Angela's voice was louder now, her face twisted into an expression of panic. Brennan met her best friend's eyes, focusing on her as she tuned out the officer reading her rights.

"Ange, I need you to call Booth," Brennan forced her voice to stay calm and level. "Okay? Call him."

Then, as they reached the platform stairs, the officer forced her to turn, leaving her friends staring at her retreating form in shock.

_A/N: Sorry again for the wait on this; won't happen again. Plus I've already got a decent head start on the next chapter (due to not deciding the cutoff point until late) so it should be up pretty quickly…provided you guys continue to let me know your thoughts! Review away, and thanks for reading!_


	6. Dare You To Move

_Author's Note: Hey, guys. Deepest apologies for the delay. I've been on spring break and I spent more time out of town than in town. Plus, these chapters take a little more time than my previous fics' chapters…not only are they pretty consistently long, but they require some research and planning for the legal aspects. Still, I'm back at school now, and all shooting is done, so I'm hoping to have more time to work._

_Again, we have a long chapter, so I hope it makes up for the wait a little bit. Enjoy, and definitely let me know what you think! Song is "Dare You to Move" by Switchfoot. Oh, and I don't know if anyone cares, but I always mentally cast any original characters…and in my head, Alex, who's featured fairly heavily, is played by Paget Brewster. But feel free to picture her as whoever you need to :D Read away!_

**Chapter Five**

_Welcome to the fallout_

_Welcome to resistance_

_The tension is here_

_The tension is here_

_Between who you are and who you could be_

_Between how it is and how it should be_

_I dare you to move_

_I dare you to move_

_I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor_

_I dare you to move_

_I dare you to move_

_Like today never happened_

_Today never happened_

_Maybe redemption has stories to tell_

_Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell_

_Where can you run to escape from yourself?_

Booth's stomach clenched the second he saw Angela's name flash on his cell phone, though he didn't immediately connect what the call might mean.

"Hello?"

When Angela answered, her voice was borderline hysterical. "Booth, they…they arrested Bren, they just…they say she killed him, Sean, and, they…they came into the lab and…they had handcuffs…" He could hear her taking shallow breaths, panicking. "Booth, what is going on?"

Booth felt dizzy, and he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to think, to deal with this. "Okay…" He swallowed hard. "Okay, I need to go, Angela. I need to call the lawyer."

"The _lawyer_? Booth, what-"

"I have to go, Ange, I…sorry." He hung up abruptly, before more questions.

Silence settled around him, and Booth set his jaw, aware of what had begun, hating his inability to stop it, to do anything but watch as Brennan went through hell when it should have been him.

Then he dialed Alex.

~(B*B)~

"Who is he?"

Those were the first words out of Hodgins' mouth when Angela hung up the phone. Angela looked up to find her husband and Cam staring at her expectantly. "Who?"

"The guy they think Brennan killed," Hodgins told her. "You said to Booth…you said 'Sean', like you knew who he was, like Booth would know."

Angela lowered her eyes, away from their curious gazes. "I can't…I can't tell you that."

"Angela, if she's being arrested for his murder, it's going to come out anyway," Cam said rationally. "We can help her, but we need to know what's happening…"

Angela sighed, giving Hodgins a pleading look. Brennan's past with Sean had never been explicitly stated as a secret, but it was always understood. Until Booth, Angela was the only person who knew anything about it. "I'm just...I didn't know anything about him being killed so…we should wait for Booth."

"Okay," Hodgins said softly, a soothing note in his voice. "We should go to Booth's place and wait for him to get back, we…we need to figure out what's going on."

"Agreed," Cam said instantly.

Angela stayed quiet, and Hodgins came forward, taking her hand and kissing her cheek. "It's going to be okay. We're going to go pick up Allegra, and we can go to Booth's place and wait. Alright?"

"We may as well call Sweets," Cam added, already grabbing her coat. "He'll find out soon enough, and we shouldn't make Booth go through this more than once."

~(B*B)~

Brennan was pacing her holding cell, fear pulsing through her veins. They'd said they'd be back to officially book her soon, but she wouldn't get her phone call until that had happened.

She needed to talk to Booth. He'd been all she could think about in the silent ride to the jail; neither of them had expected an arrest this soon, and she hated having to imagine how he was reacting.

Then there was that slight, persistent fear that he would do something stupid, ignoring logic and his own knowledge of the law, and tell someone the truth.

So, she paced.

Brennan wasn't sure how long she'd been inside the cell when footsteps approached.

She was expecting to see some of the officers, coming to book her, but instead, an unfamiliar woman was soon standing on the other side of the bars. "Dr. Brennan? I'm Alex Bennett, your-"

"-my lawyer," Brennan finished. "I know."

"I spoke to the officers, they'll be booking you soon. And then you'll be transferred to the solitary cells."

Brennan's eyebrows drew together. "Why solitary?"

"I insisted on it," Alex informed her. "Mentioned that it would be best considering there are prisoners _you_ put away waiting for trial. Wouldn't be safe for you in general population…more importantly, it reminds them right from the beginning which side of justice you're on."

Brennan stared at her for a moment, as though considering, and then nodded curtly. "I can appreciate that logic."

"They'll arraign you in the morning," Alex continued briskly.

"I know."

"Which means you'll be held in jail overnight, and tomorrow morning I'll make sure they set bail…though there's going to be a fight, considering the severity of the charge."

"I know," Brennan repeated flatly.

Alex nodded, reminding herself that she wasn't dealing with a client unfamiliar with the system. "Right. So do you have any questions?"

"Yes," Brennan said immediately, surprising Alex. Brennan met her eyes intently. "How's Booth?"

"He's…okay," Alex told her uncertainly; the question hadn't been what she'd expected.

Impatiently, Brennan continued, "That's a meaningless statement, considering you have no point of reference with Booth. I need you to be more specific."

For a moment, Alex was quiet, already reevaluating her client. There was real concern and fear under Brennan's impatience, fear not for herself and her upcoming arraignment, but for the man pacing outside the prison.

"He's standing out there at the booking desk, while they tell him over and over again he's not allowed to see you." Brennan closed her eyes briefly, nodding, and Alex continued, "Once they book you, you'll be able to call him."

"I know," Brennan said again then, as an afterthought, added, "Thank you."

"Sure." Alex paused, then told her, "I'm going to get a copy of your statement to the police. Based on the self defense plea, you should be able to make bail. But with your prior charges…the prosecution will be gunning to hold you for the duration of the trial."

Fear flickered briefly across Brennan's features, but she nodded stoically, "I understand."

"_But_ I'll be doing everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen," Alex said firmly. "And I'm usually successful. Though at the very least they'll prevent you from doing any forensic work until the trial's over. So I think we should ask for an expedited trial, emphasize the importance of your work. It also makes a strong statement…the trial's an unnecessary inconvenience, a formality we want to get out of the way, you get the idea."

"Makes sense," Brennan murmured distractedly.

"Alright." Alex paused, waiting. When Brennan said nothing else, Alex simply nodded. "I guess I'll see you in the morning."

~(B*B)~

Booth was muttering threats to the booking agent when Alex reappeared, and Booth turned his attention to the attorney. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Alex said calmly, wondering briefly if Booth would insist that she didn't have a point of reference with Brennan and needed to be more specific.

Instead, the agent shook his head in frustration. "I need to see her. _Now_."

"You can't," Alex told him. "Not until tomorrow morning, at the arraignment." A muscle pulsed in Booth's jaw, and he glared at her, readying himself for protest. Her voice calm, Alex added, "You know there's nothing we can do about that. But she'll get her phone call soon, so you can at least talk to her."

Booth swung his glare at the booking officer, not placated by this assurance.

"Agent Booth," Alex said firmly. "You need to go home. There's nothing you can do for her tonight. We have to wait until morning, and then _I_ will take care of her."

Booth turned to look at Alex, his gaze fierce, the force in his tone taking her by surprise. "You _better."_ Alex arched an eyebrow at him, and Booth continued, "I know you've had a lot of clients. But you need to believe me when I say that Bones is _not_ like any of them. She doesn't deserve any of this, and I…I can't do anything about it. I can't help her." He narrowed his eyes. "So _you_ have to do it."

Slowly, she nodded. "Okay," she agreed quietly. "I'll do my best."

~(B*B)~

Booth felt bone tired when he walked into his apartment, hating the fact that he was expected to go home and sleep like this was a normal night, like Brennan wasn't spending the night in a jail cell.

When he entered the living room, though, Booth froze.

Sweets and Cam were sitting in chairs, while Hodgins and Angela were next to each other on the couch, their daughter on Angela's lap.

They looked for all the world like they an impending intervention.

Booth's shoulders sagged, exhaustion deepening. "You found the hide-a-key rock?"

"Little sloppy for a former sniper, don't you think?" Hodgins joked half-heartedly.

"Seeley, what the hell happened?" Cam asked softly, her eyes sympathetic and questioning.

Sighing, he sank into the only empty chair in the living room. His eyes snapped to Angela's. "Did you…?"

She shook her head. "I didn't know how much I should say."

"Can one of you please tell us what's going on?" Hodgins asked.

"Sean Lowell was Bones' foster father," he said in a low, mechanic voice, eyes on his folded hands. Booth had lost track of the number of times he'd explained all this. "He went to jail about twenty years ago for…" His voice trailed off.

He was silent for so long that Angela said softly, a catch in her voice, "Bren lived with him and his wife for eight months. Until he went to jail for rape and abuse."

Booth closed his eyes, blocking out the gasps and sighs of his friends' reactions. He let Angela continue, explaining about the letters Sean sent from prison, the incidents that had happened since Sean's release.

"Wait, so, that guy at the diner that Sweets and I saw…" Hodgins and the psychologist exchanged glances.

Sweets suddenly looked horrified. "Oh, my God, I told him she came in there all the time…"

"Told you that was stupid," Hodgins muttered.

Angela cut them off, continuing with what she knew about Booth's attempt to arrest Sean, and then she paused. "That's…that's the last I heard about it."

Booth lifted his head finally. "He came to Bones' place," he recited, his voice rough. "I wasn't…I wasn't in the room. He…he violated the restraining order, he came…he hit her, and Bones held him down but he got away…" Booth sighed, closing his eyes. It was hardest, he found, to tell this lie to their friends. "She shot him and…he died."

For several long, lingering moments, they were all silent, absorbing the information. Then, Angela started slowly, "But how can they arrest her for that? That's…it's self defense, right?"

"Well, that's what the lawyer's going to try to prove," Booth told her in a defeated voice.

"But he came to her house, he violated a restraining order, he _attacked_…" Hodgins voice was indignant, his eyes wide with anger "That's _not_ enough to get a warrant for arrest….what did they do, _bribe_ a judge?"

"No, it's…they know she's trained in martial arts, they know she's got prior assaults and…you know, the forensics are going to show that there was at least _some_ distance between them, that she'd shoved him away and…they just don't think she had to kill him. There's still no proof that he was stalking, and they think it was…revenge."

Booth closed his eyes. He could remember that flash of grim, manic satisfaction that hit him the second after pulling the trigger, just before the implications of what he'd done sunk in…watching that man collapse in front of him from the force of Booth's gun, it had felt good.

It had been murder. It _had_ been about revenge. It just wasn't Brennan's.

"He would've deserved it," Sweets commented in a quiet voice, and for a brief second Booth met the kid's eyes and nodded slightly.

"But they're wrong," Angela insisted, her voice shaking. "So she's going to…she's going to be released, right? They can't…they can't possibly convict her for that, _right_?"

Booth could feel Angela's worried, expectant gaze on his, waiting for his reassurance that of course it was all ridiculous. He could feel _all_ of them staring at him, watching for a sign that this was just an inconvenience, probably no different from Brennan shooting a congressman's aid in the leg, all those years ago.

He couldn't tell them that. Instead, Booth was quiet for a long moment before finally, he saying in a quiet, fierce voice, "Well, they better not."

~(B*B)~

The flash went off in front of Brennan's face, and the dispassionate voice behind the camera instructed her to turn, and just like that, Brennan forced herself to detach.

Getting a mug shot taken was not the same as being photographed for evidence, as she had been all those years ago when they'd needed to document every bruise and cut on her body. But the clinical feel of the place, the lack of concern from all the people around her…there were definite similarities.

They gave her a form to fill out, and Brennan focused on each question, compartmentalizing as much as she could so she thought only about the task in front of her. List height, weight, eye color, allergies. There were a number of trivialities to list, and Brennan penciled in each answer with quick efficiency…until she came to the space for her to list _distinguishing characteristics._

So Brennan found herself methodically listing scars, many of which Sean Lowell had given her, and she felt a flash of anger that she was going through the same process he had, all those years ago, as though his crime was the same as hers (well, _Booth's _crime, as some small voice in the back of her head reminded her).

They rolled Brennan's fingers across an ink pad, making three sets of prints. Brennan's fingers were limp, easily controlled by the correctional officers.

They handed her a pair of scrubs, the typical hazard orange, and with a jolt Brennan thought of her father.

"Get undressed," the officer directed her flatly. For a moment, Brennan stared at the scrubs in her hands, not comprehending, and then she heard the snap of rubber gloves from behind her.

Brennan forced detachment again, mentally listing the bones of the hand, something she used to do in college to calm down after waking up from nightmares, as the fingers probed her mouth, ears, and nostrils before dropping lower to more intimate areas. She quickened her mental recitations, forcing away flashbacks of Sean Lowell or the doctors in the hospital after his arrest.

Brennan was shaking slightly when she gratefully pulled the scrubs over her body, watching as one officer haphazardly balled up her discarded clothes and stuffed them in a bag, while the other guard led her away.

In the booking room at the front of the jail again, Brennan was left standing by a phone, and for the first time the tightness in her chest abated. "Go ahead," the officer muttered.

The guard stepped back, giving her the short distance that translates into her right to a private phone call, and Brennan picked up the phone, dialing the number she knew by heart, her connection to something outside the jail.

"Hello?" The word had never sounded so beautiful, even though the exhaustion and tension in Booth's voice was palpable across the phone lines.

"Booth," Brennan breathed his name, gripping the phone tighter as though it meant they were closer.

"Oh, God, _Bones_…"

Just hearing that, his voice warm and tender around the weight of her name, made Brennan's throat narrow, her vision blurring. "I'm okay," she told him softly. "I'm fine, I promise." She closed her eyes, not wanting to be aware of anything besides Booth's voice.

"I waited to see you, they wouldn't let me in…"

"I know, Alex told me, it's okay…"

"I had to tell everyone, Bones, they were waiting for me, so I had…I had to explain."

"I figured you would have to," she answered quietly. Brennan glanced over, where the correctional officers didn't appear to be listening. "You told them I shot him?"

Booth knew what she was asking. "Yeah, Bones. That's what I told them."

"Okay." Brennan sighed, already dreading the moment she'd have to hang up. "Booth, I'm so sorry…"

"Don't," he said vehemently, his voice catching. "Don't apologize, I should…it should be me, Bones, I should be in there…"

"No you shouldn't," she told him firmly. "And it's just tonight."

Booth didn't correct her, didn't mention that there was always the possibility they wouldn't set bail, and Brennan didn't bring it up.

They were silent for several moments; there was nothing left to say, but neither of them wanted to break the connection.

"I love you," Booth told her finally, his voice soft and thick.

"I love you, too," Brennan whispered back, feeling a warm tear slide slowly down her cheek. "So much, Booth."

"I'm gonna be there in the morning. Front row of the gallery so you just…you just look at me, alright?"

"I will."

"You promise you're okay?"

"I promise."

"I wish…" His voice cracked. "I wish you'd let me change this."

"I can't," she told him softly. "It's best this way. You understand, right?"

"No," Booth told her honestly, his voice rough and unsteady. "I don't, Bones. I can't."

Silence fell again. They were out of things to say again, but they stayed on the phone until Brennan saw the correctional officer stand, eyeing her.

"Booth, I have to go."

"Okay," Booth forced out, his voice tight.

"Love you," she said again, a desperate note in her voice.

"I love you, too," Booth told her softly. "My Bones."

Another tear fell down her face, and Brennan impatiently wiped it away. "Love you," she whispered one more time, wanting to leave him with that, before hanging up the phone and letting them lead her away.

~(B*B)~

Booth held the phone against his ear for several long, quiet moments after the call disconnected, already missing her.

His chest was tight, his breathing shallow and painful. The phone call had only made him feel worse; Brennan couldn't quite manage to disguise the fear in her voice, or the slight tremor that meant she was trying not to cry.

He sat on the edge of the bed for what seemed like a long time, cradling his phone his hands, wracking his brain for some way to undo what Brennan had done.

After awhile, there was a light knock on the bedroom door, and Angela stuck her head in the door without waiting for an answer. "Booth? It's, um…getting late, we're going to go ahead and get Ally home."

He nodded distractedly. "Right, sure. I guess…I'll see you guys in the morning."

Instead of leaving, Angela moved further into the room and sat down beside him. They were both silent for a moment, and then the artist asked in a small voice, "How did she sound?"

Booth shrugged listlessly, eyes dropping automatically to the phone in his hand. "She sounded…like Bones. Trying to be fine even though she's not." He closed his eyes, lifting his fingers to massage his temples. "I don't know what to do here, Ange… "

"It'll be alright," Angela said, her voice resolutely forceful. "It's _B_ren_. _She…she's _famous_ for putting away criminals , and this guy…this guy would have hurt her again…" Angela gave a wild, incredulous laugh. "They can't just put _her_ in _jail_."

Booth stared at his hands, not answering.

Cutting her eyes at him, Angela scrutinized Booth's face, contorted with anguish and unmistakable defeat. "Hey…" She placed a hand on his back, recognizing the expression. "Booth, this is _not_ your fault."

He gave a soft, breathless laugh, tightening his jaw to prevent himself from talking, too afraid of what he'd say.

Angela continued, the concern in her voice palpable, "There wasn't enough to hold him and that…that _sucks_, and it's not fair, but that is _not_ your fault. I know you did everything you could to protect her."

Immediately, Booth winced, his gaze snapping away from hers. His head as beginning to pound, as he dully realized that his last attempt to protect Brennan had been the worst thing he could have done.

His throat narrowed, a scream rounding against its walls, rising up and threatening to burst out of him. Booth doubled over at the waist, balled fists pressing against either side of his head.

Angela's voice, worriedly repeating his name, suddenly seemed far away. Booth wanted her to leave; he wanted them all to leave, all his friends who were waiting patiently in his living room, wanting a report on how Brennan sounded, wanting some reassurance from him that this would all be over soon.

He needed them to leave so he could fall apart in private.

With great effort, Booth lifted his head and forced himself to say in an even voice, "You guys should go. I'll be fine."

Looking skeptical, Angela asked, "You sure? One of us could stay…"

"No, you and Hodgins have the baby and…Cam and Sweets they should get home, too…" Words were spilling out in a rush, his ability to hold himself together fading fast. "I'm fine. Really, you…you guys should go."

Maybe Angela actually believed him; maybe she just recognized the desperation in his tone. Either way, she stood up, placing a hand briefly on his shoulder. "Okay. We'll be at the arraignment in the morning."

He managed to murmur an obligatory protest. "You guys don't have to…"

"Of course we're coming," Angela said, pausing in the doorway to fix him with a firm look. "It's Bren." Her voice softened. "We care about her, too, Booth."

For just a moment, that tight, panicking feeling eased, and Booth looked at Angela, understanding passing between them. "I know you do."

She gave him a tired half smile. "Night, Booth."

Angela closed the bedroom door behind her, and Booth stayed perfectly still, listening. He could hear the murmur of his friends' voices in the living room, followed shortly by footsteps and, finally, his front door shutting.

Only then did Booth allow himself to fall back on his bed, his hands over his face, a low, animalistic sound of frustration bursting from his chest.

~(B*B)~

After what she'd estimated to be about four hours of curling on her cot, Brennan gave up on sleep and sat up, leaning her back against the wall and folded her arms. Hugging herself, Brennan ran her palms back and forth over her forearms, which were prickled with goosebumps.

She had been far worse places than prison, and Brennan was reminding herself of that frequently: the trunk of Sean Lowell's car, the place she'd been held in El Salvador.

Comparatively, this was nothing. Minimal discomfort at best.

But this was such a stark contrast to how she'd gotten used to spending nights lately.

She missed Booth. More than anything, it was worrying about him that was keeping her awake.

His defeated insistence that he couldn't understand what she was doing scared her. If he continued to deny her logic (which Brennan knew was undeniable), there was no way to be sure he wouldn't do something irrational.

Brennan was shivering; she drew her knees against her chest, resting her chin against her leg. Though she had accepted the fact that it clearly was not going to happen, she wanted so badly to sleep, if only so she could stop worrying about the arraignment.

As long as she made bail, if she was able to go home with Booth, Brennan believed it would be alright. She'd have time to convince him.

But if they kept her in jail until the trial, which even with Alex's request for an expedited trial could be a few months, Booth would lose it.

As for her own fears about staying in prison for that long….well, Brennan simply didn't allow herself to consider it as an option.

~(B*B)~

Alex Bennett had a routine. For a defense attorney, arraignments offered very little opportunity to prepare. There was no way to know what the prosecutor might be thinking until she was in that courtroom.

Still, she had her pre-arraignment routine, and she didn't like it to be interrupted. She would leave her apartment building early, to stop at Starbucks for a hazelnut latte and a low fat blueberry muffin. She made a stop by the jail, exercising her right as an attorney to see her client in a private interview room. Alex suspected Dr. Brennan wouldn't have any last minute questions, nor would she need to go over the procedure.

Still, it was Alex's routine. And she didn't like to break it.

So her surprise gave way quickly to irritation when she exited her apartment building, at the precise time she needed to head to Starbucks, to find Agent Booth standing outside her building, looking as though he hadn't slept in days.

She arched an eyebrow in his direction, asking dryly, "Are you stalking me, Agent Booth?"

He scowled at her, his bloodshot eyes flashing in a way that indicated he was in no mood for humor (especially stalker jokes). He was clutching a newspaper in his hand, and as soon as Alex was close enough Booth thrust it at her.

"They found out," he gritted out through clenched teeth as Alex scanned the article announcing Dr. Temperance Brennan's, famed forensic anthropologist and author, arrest for murder.

"I expected they would," Alex muttered, scanning the article without much concern. "You should prepare yourself, they'll probably be all over the courthouse."

"They found out _all of it_," Booth said again, acting as though he hadn't heard her. Jabbing a finger to a column of print, he continued, his voice hoarse, "She was a minor at the time, any public record of Sean Lowell's arrest should have kept her name out of it…"

Alex sighed, reading the sentence Booth was pointing to, which recognized Brennan as the victim of Sean's former rape and abuse convictions.

"You're right, that shouldn't have been public record yet," Alex told him, her voice calm. "But reporters are going to be all over this trial, and what Sean Lowell did to her back then is going to be a big part of the prosecution's case…so they can prove she had reason for revenge." Alex fixed him with a serious look. "It was going to come out anyway."

"I don't care!" Booth burst out, his eyes wild. "I don't care if it was going to come out eventually, Bones, she…" His voice faltered, and Booth glared down at the newspaper. "It was huge deal for her to even tell _me_ and…"

Booth closed his eyes. It was bad enough for Brennan that all their friends knew the truth; now the whole world would.

It was just another thing he'd done to her.

"Agent Booth," Alex said firmly, the decidedly rational tone of her voice reminding him vaguely of Brennan. "It is extremely unfortunate that Dr. Brennan's extremely painful personal history is going to be made public during this case…but we can't deny that it is. Just like we can't deny that she is a well known public figure, which makes things even more subject to scrutiny." She paused and then, sympathy threaded in her tone, Alex continued, "I know it sucks. I know it's gonna be really hard on her but…it's not all bad."

Booth made a skeptical sound, glaring at Alex for the mere suggestion.

Unfazed, she explained calmly, "The best case the prosecution has is to prove that everything Sean Lowell did to her was bad enough to make her want revenge…and maybe they'll have a point, but all the evidence of that will be just as effective in proving that Sean Lowell was a dangerous threat."

Booth lifted his head and looked at her, considering this.

"We have a good case," Alex said quietly. "I know you and Dr. Brennan aren't used to thinking about law from this side of it…in your world, reasonable doubt is the enemy, but for defense, it's the key to winning. It's going to be hard to prove either way, whether or not she _had_ to kill him, and when it comes down to it…well, juries simply don't _want_ to convict a woman who spends her life putting murderers in jail for killing her own rapist."

There was a confidence in her voice that made Booth pay attention. Alex was right; he didn't think about cases from a defense standpoint. Now, considering what the attorney was saying, Booth had to admit she had a point.

It was one of the moments where the logic of Bones' decision hit him like a punch in the gut. Booth didn't like understanding what she'd done, didn't like admitting to himself that it made sense, and for a moment his own self loathing drained the fight out of him, and he nodded at Alex.

Taking the nod as conciliatory, Alex glanced at her watch and had to stifle a groan. She would only be able to make Starbucks if she drove fast and the line was nonexistent, but she wasn't willing to risk it.

"I have to go," Alex told him apologetically. "I want to stop by the prison before they take Dr. Brennan over, check in with her."

Instantly, Booth's face changed, his eyes suddenly purposeful. "I'll go with you."

"You won't be allowed in," she reminded him, already walking to her car.

Booth fell into step with Alex, undeterred. "They'll let me in with you, I'm FBI-"

Sighing impatiently, Alex turned to face him. "Not in this case you aren't. You're gonna need to remember that." She began walking again, and this time Booth didn't follow her.

Alex paused as she opened her car door and offered, "You may want to get down to the courthouse soon, Agent. They can't keep the press out, so the gallery will fill up quick." She gave him a small smile. "And I'm guessing you're going to want to be right behind the defense table."

~(B*B)~

Alex was sitting at a table in the interview room when the door opened and an officer led Brennan inside.

Wordlessly, Brennan sat down across from her lawyer, regarding Alex with a mild expression as though they were merely meeting at a diner for breakfast.

"Morning," Alex said, mimicking Brennan's casual expression, though she was scrutinizing her client carefully. "How was your night?"

"It was okay," Brennan replied immediately. Alex noted that her client didn't seem to have slept anymore than Booth had, though Brennan definitely seemed calmer than he had.

As though Brennan could read Alex's mind, the next words out of her mouth were, "Have you talked to Booth?"

Alex paused. She's barely been on this case more than a day, and already the relationship between Booth and Brennan continued to surprise and fascinate her.

Booth's wild eyed panic and concern were at least understandable; after weeks of worrying about his girlfriend's safety, she was in jail for finally protecting herself. Brennan, though, seemed more concern with Booth's emotional state than she was with her own arrest and trial.

"I _saw_ him, actually." Alex answered finally. She hesitated slightly, before deciding not to break the news about the press leak. "He wanted to come with me this morning, but he wouldn't have been allowed in. He's probably at the courthouse by now."

Brennan nodded, her brow furrowed, as though she was seriously considering something. Still, she made no other reply, and after a moment Alex simply continued, "You have any questions about today?"

"No, I'm well familiar with the procedure."

"Right…our official plea will be not guilty due to justifiable use of force. I assume you're alright with that?"

"Yes…since that's what happened." There was a slightly defensive note in Brennan's voice, as though Alex had implied otherwise.

"Good." Alex stood, glancing at her watch. "An officer will bring you over to the courthouse soon…I'll be waiting for you there."

"I know," Brennan answered, her standard reply.

Alex was almost to the door when Brennan's voice, quiet and hesitant stopped her, "Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think….by your estimation, what are the chances that we'll be able to set bail?"

Alex almost smiled. "Are you asking for a percentage?"

"If you can provide one, yes," Brennan replied, completely serious.

"I don't know about a percentage," Alex told her honestly. "But considering _he_ came to _your_ home, I'm nearly positive the prosecution with have to go with second degree murder, rather than Murder One…that, coupled with our defense, means we have a good chance of getting you out."

Brennan nodded stoically, but her chest constricted slightly, unable to forget that a _good chance_ was hardly the same as a guarantee.

~(B*B)~

Booth was closing his eyes, and was mentally counting backwards from a hundred, the only strategy he knew for drowning out the noise around him.

Two reporters behind him were eagerly discussing Brennan, and her history with Sean Lowell, and forcing himself to ignore them was the only way Booth could keep himself from turning around to throttle them both.

He'd gotten to the courthouse early enough to claim the spot he wanted: the first row of the gallery, directly behind the empty chair where Brennan would be sitting soon. Still, the place was packed now, mostly with reporters clutching tiny notepads and thoroughly testing Booth's self control.

He'd barely been able to make eye contact with Angela, Hodgins, Cam and Sweets, who had arrived together to find the place nearly packed. They were squeezed together in one of the last rows of the defense side.

Alex walked in about fifteen minutes before the arraignment was scheduled to start; she nodded at Booth and, before he had to ask, assured him, "She's fine. Asked about you."

"Of course she did," he muttered, leaning back against the bench, angry and guilty that Bones was concerned about _him_ when she was the one who'd spent a night in prison.

In front of him, Alex began organizing documents on the table in front of her, and Booth turned his attention to the table across the room, where the prosecutor had arrived.

With a jolt, Booth realized he recognized the guy. His name was Christopher Gold, and he'd handled a couple of Booth's cases several years back. Booth remembered him as smart and merciless, a quality Booth had previously appreciated but suddenly dreaded.

"Chris Gold," he murmured through gritted teeth. Alex turned, then followed Booth's gaze.

A smirk curled her lips and she shrugged carelessly. "This'll be fun, then."

"He's good," Booth told her, his voice tight.

"He's okay," Alex replied distractedly. "Nothing I can't handle."

Booth started to say something, but he froze abruptly, eyes snapping to a door at the right rear of a courtroom, where a bailiff was emerging, leading Brennan.

Instantly, the air in Booth's lungs dissolved, and his stomach rolled sickeningly. Brennan's hands were cuffed in front of her, and she looked startlingly small in the oversized prison scrubs.

She lifted her eyes from the floor and immediately sought his gaze. Brennan's eyes went soft around the edges, relief stripped through her gaze as she looked at him, never breaking eye contact as she was led toward the defense table.

Booth's throat narrowed; he curled his fingers around the edge of the bench, physically stopping himself from following his instincts, which were screaming at him to go to her, to rip off the handcuffs with her bare hands and announce that he should be the one standing in her place.

Brennan looked over her shoulder at him as she took her seat beside Alex.

"Bones…" Booth breathed out instinctively, his heart catching as Brennan forced a small smile of reassurance before reluctantly turning around to face the judge. She was close enough to touch, and Booth's hands were aching to reach for her.

The process began, and Booth couldn't shake the surreal feeling. This was a procedure he'd witnessed unfold dozens of times, but never from this side. And never with this much at stake.

As they announced her case as _District of Colombia vs. Temperance Brennan, for murder in the second degree_, a sudden jolt of relief hit Booth. Until now, he hadn't considered there would be distinction between degrees of the murder.

Alex began talking, her voice smooth and confident, as soon as their case was announced. "Alex Bennett for the defendant….we waive reading of the charges and enter a plea of not guilty due to justifiable use of force. We ask that the defendant be released on her own recognizance immediately."

Judge Daniel Hayes, an older man with a shock of white hair and milky blue eyes, nodded slightly. "Does the state wish to be heard on bail?"

Christopher Gold stood up, one hand absently smoothing his tie. "Your Honor, we ask that the defendant be held without bail pending trial."

Booth's stomach clenched, but Alex was arguing before he'd even finished. "Your Honor, that is ludicrous, especially for a charge of second degree murder. My client is a well respected and well known forensic anthropologist. She's a danger to no one…except possibly the criminals she routinely gets off the streets."

"Grandstanding already, Alex?" Chris said dryly, causing the judge the glare at both of them. Unbothered, the prosecutor continued, "Your honor, there's considerable flight risk. Thanks to the well publicized success of her writing career, Dr. Brennan easily has the financial means to escape. In addition, her travel records reveal she frequently makes prolonged visits to various foreign countries, sometimes for months at a time."

Before she could stop herself, Brennan was twisting around to look at Booth, her expression stricken. "Those travels were necessary to her very accomplished career," Alex scoffed. "And they definitely should not be held against her now-"

"Even so," Chris shot back, his voice annoyingly smug.

"All right, all right," Judge Hayes shook his head impatiently. "Save some of it for trial, Counsel. Now, given the charge, I do not believe Dr. Brennan is a danger to anyone at present time." Booth let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "However, given the factors that make her a more elevated flight risk, the court stipulates that she turn in her passport, abstain from any and all forensic work until the completion of her trial…and wear electronic monitoring that prevents her from leaving her place of residence except for visits to court or meetings with her lawyer."

"_What_?" Booth burst out without thinking.

The judge didn't hear him, thankfully, over Alex's incredulous question. "Is that really necessary, Your Honor?"

Brennan, though, heard Booth's outburst, and she turned again. The color had drained from her face, but she forced a strained smile, mouthing _It's okay_ in his direction.

He'd missed Hayes' reply to Alex, but apparently she'd relented, because she was saying in a tight voice, "We'd also like to seek an immediate trial date. Dr. Brennan is a nationally renowned forensic anthropologist, and an extremely well respected public figure. I won't have these baseless charges hanging over her for any longer than is necessary. In addition, depriving the Jeffersonian and the FBI of her forensic services will only make our community a more dangerous place."

From across the room, Booth saw Chris roll his eyes, and a wave of hatred hit Booth so strongly he couldn't see straight.

"I had no idea you were such a fan of federal forensic investigators, Alex. Usually you're the one arguing against them."

"Mr. Gold, you're trying my patience…"

Smoothly, Chris addressed the judge, "State can be ready in two months, Your Honor."

Judge Hayes nodded. "Trial date is set for November 12th. The defendant is released on three hundred thousand dollars bail." He banged his gavel once. "Adjourned."

Instantly, the court room exploded with the buzz of reporters, yelling Brennan's name and throwing their questions across the courtroom.

She seemed unaware of them, though, turning immediately to look at him. "Booth…"

In an instant Booth leaned over the rail that separated them and pulled Brennan against him as best he could. Her hands, still handcuffed, came between them, resting against his chest as Booth buried his face in her hair.

"It's okay," she whispered against his ear. "I don't mind house arrest. Really."

Dimly, Booth thought that he should be the one assuring _her_.

"Um, Dr. Brennan?" Alex cleared her throat awkwardly. "You have to go with the bailiff."

Brennan pulled away from him reluctantly.

Alex touched her shoulder. "They're going to set you up with an ankle bracelet...we'll be able to meet you in a few minutes to post bail."

"I understand," Brennan murmured in reply, never breaking eye contact with Booth.

Warily, Alex surveyed the mass of reporters. "I may need to go deal with the press…."

"Wait," Booth grabbed her arm, a thought occurring to him. "Her apartment's still a crime scene, that's where it happened can…can you arrange it so she stays with me?"

Alex nodded. "I'll take care of it."

"I mean, if that's okay with Bones," he added hurriedly. "Ask her first."

"I will," Alex told him, her voice calming. "Meet me at the jail in ten minutes and I'll have it all arranged. And then you can take her home."

Booth nodded as Alex walked away, raising her voice and announcing that the defense was prepared to make a statement outside.

Hearing this, the mass of reporters flooded out of the courtroom, but after a moment Booth became aware of several people fighting the crowd's flow to approach him.

"Booth…" Angela emerged first, wide-eyed and pale. "Where did they take her?"

"We can't post bail here, it has to be at the prison," he explained dazedly. "And they'll have to get her set up for monitoring."

"You mean the ridiculous government alternative to imprisonment," Hodgins corrected vehemently. "Ridiculous…"

"She really can't leave the apartment?" Angela asked softly.

"Or work," Sweets added, looking troubled.

Eyeing Booth, Cam hastily reminded them, "It's only two months. Could have been much longer, and the fact that he set bail is a good sign."

Booth nodded distractedly, conflicted. He had been operating under the assumption that Brennan would either be held without bail or completely free until trial; he hadn't considered an in between. So while he was relieved that the worst case scenario had not occurred, he was also shocked and angry by the scenario he hadn't considered.

"It'll be okay, Seeley," Cam added, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. "And it'll be over before you know it."

Booth laughed humorlessly, doubtful, but he thanked her anyway, and even managed to thank all of them for coming as they drifted off with promises to come visit Brennan as soon as she was settled back home.

~(B*B)~

Booth was unexpectedly nervous as he stood by the booking desk of the prison, waiting for Brennan.

He wasn't sure what to say to her after all of this; there was simply too much to put into words. Too many apologies he owed her, and just as many reasons he was angry at her for making him go along with this. For every reassurance he wanted to give her about the trial, Booth had a fear of his own.

Still, Booth forgot all of that the second she appeared through the door, his legs going weak with the strength of his relief as Brennan took three steps into his arms. Then he was holding her, with no rails or handcuffs in the way, and somehow words didn't seem necessary anymore.

Alex hung back, waiting until they slowly pulled apart before she approached them. "An officer's going to follow you home to get everything set up and activated." She gestured downward, and for the first time Booth's eyes dropped, noticing the ankle bracelet strapped around Brennan's ankle. "I should be getting the discovery within the next few days so we'll talk then."

"Thank you," Brennan replied, automatically slipping her hand into Booth's.

"Good work this morning," Booth told Alex in a low, sincere voice. "I appreciate it."

"Just doing my job," Alex replied automatically. Then, hesitating, she added, "I am sorry we couldn't avoid the house arrest-"

"It's alright. It was a logical, understandable decision," Brennan told her, squeezing Booth's fingers reassuringly as she spoke.

"Right," Alex agreed, almost smiling. She signaled at the officer waiting to follow them home, then headed to the door. "Might want to let me go out about thirty seconds before you…see if I can distract the press."

"Good plan."

Still, when Booth and Brennan emerged they were quickly accosted with quick bursts of light and hurried, overlapping questions. He put his arm around Brennan, shielding her best he could as he fought his way through the crowd, muttering "_No_ comment" in a dangerously low voice to anyone who got too close.

He waited until Brennan had closed the passenger door behind her before walking around and climbing into the driver's side.

Booth exhaled slowly, his head pounding dully, glad for the muffling of the noise outside. He turned to look at Brennan, and for a moment they just smiled tiredly at each other.

"Hi," she said finally, breaking the silence.

"Hey," he whispered back, reaching up and cupping her cheek with his warm hand. "Oh, Bones…"

"I'm really fine."

He nodded slightly, not protesting. "You know how much I love you, Bones?"

She smiled immediately, and for the first time today it wasn't the forced smile of reassurance; it was genuine. Instead of answering, Brennan gently pulled his hand away from her cheek, lacing their fingers together between the seats of the car.

Even as the cop car pulled up behind them, waiting, and Booth turned his attention to driving home, he didn't let go of her hand.

~(B*B)~

"How many telephones are in the house? Is this the only exit? Do you have any contraband?"

The questions seemed endless, but only one gave them pause. "Any firearms on the premises?"

Booth answered automatically, "Yes, I…" He stopped. "Well, my gun confiscated as evidence but…I'll have to be issued a new one as soon as possible." Narrowing his eyes, he fixed the officer with a challenging look. "You understand?"

The officer made a note on his pad. "We'll need to register that weapon when it's issued." Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "Any other weapons of any kind?"

They continued through the survey, allowing the officer to walk through the apartment, surveying each room before returning to the front door to connect the receiver to a telephone.

Booth and Brennan stood at a distance as he fiddled with wires near their front door. After a moment, Booth tentatively broke the silence, "I hope you don't mind I told Alex to arrange for us to stay here instead of at your place…"

Brennan gave Booth a small smile, appreciating the automatic 'us'. "No, I wanted to be here. As long as you can bring me some things from my apartment. And this way we won't have to worry about moving Parker…" Suddenly, her face froze, eyes darkening.

Immediately, Booth knew what she was thinking. "Hey…" He threaded his fingers through her hair. "We'll explain it to Parker. We'll make sure it's okay."

Booth leaned down and kissed Brennan, gentle and reassuring, but suddenly his stomach twisted as he felt, for the first time, the unwelcome flicker of gratitude.

Explaining to his son that Brennan killed someone trying to hurt her, something the boy already understood happened sometimes in their jobs, would be far easier than having to explain the true story.

And Booth hated himself for the sudden surge of relief that he didn't have to.

The officer turned toward them, then, and started to explain the setup, pulling Booth temporarily from his moment of self-revulsion. "It's gonna need to remain connected from your phone at all times. Any tampering or disconnection will result in immediate termination of the program, meaning there will be another hearing and you'll most likely be thrown in jail," he informed them dispassionately.

The officer nodded at her ankle. "The transmitter is waterproof and shock proof, and obviously must be worn at all times. If you accidentally cross the line, you'll hear an alarm, and there will be a phone call from our monitoring center. You don't answer the phone call, again, you're gonna face another hearing. Understand?"

"Yes," Brennan replied flatly.

"Your lawyer will be in charge of alerting us to any meetings she has with you outside the premises, and those will be kept to a strict time frame. We'll know about any court appearances as well." The officer bent down, pressing a button on the transmitter and suddenly a red light flashed twice on Brennan's ankle, a small beeping indicating it was activated.

Straightening, the officer headed toward the door. "Any questions?"

They shook their heads; Booth didn't return the officer's handshake as he left them alone in the apartment.

For a moment after the door closed behind him, Booth and Brennan stood in silence. Then, forcing a smile, she faced him. "I suppose you were right about me moving in sooner rather than later."

Booth's face twisted, pulling his gaze away from hers, not answering. Brennan's smile faded instantly, and she stepped toward him, wrapping an arm around his neck. "Booth, what are you thinking?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "Part of me wants to yell at you for doing this…and part of me wants to spend a few solid hours on my knees apologizing."

Brennan nodded, seeming to consider. "Well, I hope you don't do either. Although I suppose I can't stop you from yelling, if you want."

"I don't. Not really," he admitted softly, pulling Brennan against him in a tight hug.

After a moment, he pulled back. "I should run by your place. A lot of your stuff's here already, but we want to be sure…"

Brennan nodded. "Makes sense…do you need a list?"

"I think I can figure what you'll need. I can always go back." Booth kissed her quickly. "I'll be right back, okay?" He touched her cheek. "You should lay down for awhile. Doesn't look like you slept much last night."

"Neither do you," she observed correctly. Booth started to turn toward the door, but Brennan's voice, small and hesitant, stopped him. "Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?"

"Will you…stay for now?"

Booth's heart caught; he understood what she wanted. "Of course," he said immediately. "I can go there anytime."

Grateful, Brennan took his hand and together they walked into the bedroom. Booth stretched out first, opening his arm and allowing Brennan to curl against his chest.

Brushing his lips gently against her hairline, Booth said in a soft voice. "Love you."

"Love you, too," she murmured in reply, her voice already faint as she drifted off, the long sleepless night in prison catching up with her.

Booth, though, in spite of his own sleepless night, lay awake, his throat tight with everything that they still hadn't talked about, everything he didn't know how to say yet. His foot brushed the hard plastic of the monitor around Brennan's ankle, and Booth couldn't help but think this was just another type of imprisonment…he was locked away with Bones and his own guilt, fear, and sickening knowledge of the truth.

_Author's Note: You know what to do! Please let me know how you think…it's just a click away._


	7. You're Not Listening

**A/N**: _Okay, I'm sure you're all falling over your keyboards in shock…or, more likely, scratching your heads trying to remember exactly what this story is. In any case, I owe you a huge apology for the hiatus, and there's no way I can do it justice, so I won't even try really. Short version: I was having some issues with Show, which made my motivation sink rapidly; even when I got cool with Show again, I was having some panic attacks over impending senior year and my lack of original scripts for my writing profile, so I went on a binge; when I finally had the time and inclination to write Truth, I was terrified that the break had been too long and I wouldn't be able to do it and the flow would be ruined and no one would remember it anyway. This is the longest chapter I've ever written, probably, but in no way is it long enough to make up for lost time. I'm so sorry, and if you have chosen to stick around, I cannot convey my appreciation enough. And huge thank you to Biba, my beta, who made sure I never forgot about this, and made it clear in no uncertain terms that leaving it unfinished was not an option._

_Now, I won't extend the wait any longer. Here you go, at last. Song is "You're Not Listening" by the Rescues, a band everyone should know, and quite possibly my favorite songby then._

Chapter Six

_Those tears are 10 years old_  
_That script has long been sold_  
_That stories' sick of being told_  
_Say goodbye love _

_It's time you learned some new lines_  
_They're already rolling round in your mind_  
_So don't waste another life, my love_

_My love, you're not listening_  
_My love, you're not listening_  
_My love, try listening_  
_For the voice that's whispering_  
_To you my love_

The morning after the arraignment, Brennan woke up to the strong, familiar feeling of Booth's chest underneath her, and the gentle, soothing feel of his fingers threading absently through her hair. She let out a soft, slow sigh of contentment; this was far, far better than waking up in a prison cell.

Brennan lifted her eyes, still hooded with sleep, to meet Booth's, which were already alert, awake and gazing down at her with poorly concealed worry.

"Morning," she mumbled against Booth's chest.

"Hi." Booth tried to smile. "You sleep okay?"

"Mmm-hmmm." Nearly fully awake now, Brennan felt a tug at her chest over the heaviness in Booth's voice, the obvious pain in his eyes. Wanting to make it go away, she lifted herself on one arm until she could catch his lips in hers.

After a few moments of this, Brennan hummed pleasurably against the kiss. Pulling back and tilting their foreheads together, she whispered, "I don't think I'll mind house arrest so much if we can pass the time like this."

Instantly, Booth's eyes darkened, and he grimaced, stiffening. "Bones, don't."

Brennan's smile faded. "I'm sorry," she told him earnestly. "I was trying…to use humor to make light of the situation. Like you do sometimes."

After this matter-of-fact assessment of her comment, Booth couldn't help but smile a little. "It's okay. It was a good try." Brennan sighed, dropping her head back on Booth's chest. He tightened his arms around her, then added, "I kinda know what you mean, anyway, Bones. I wish we could just stay here, just like this, until this whole mess is over."

She murmured something that sounded like assent against his skin, and for a moment they let the moment linger, the quiet simplicity of it easily masking the chaos of the last few days.

But then the phone began to ring, constantly, reality once again forcing itself upon them.

~(B*B)~

"Dad?"

The small, familiar sound of his son's voice hit Booth with a force, and he bit back the biting _No comment_ he'd been about to bark into the phone. Swallowing, Booth managed a strangled, "Hey, bud," some unnamed fear already twining its way up his spine.

"I saw you and Bones in the newspaper," Parker told him.

"You did?" Booth repeated stupidly, though of course he'd seen it, too. Angela had been the first to warn him, amid all the calls from the media demanding comments.

Booth had gone outside for his newspaper as soon as Brennan stepped into the shower; there, in black and white on the front page, was a somewhat grainy shot of he and Brennan fighting their way through a throng of reporters outside the jail. Booth's arm was around her, and he was glaring at someone off to the side, but Brennan's gaze was trained in the direction of the camera taking the shot.

The wide-eyed, horrified look on her face shot straight to Booth's heart. This photographer, one in a sea of others trying to get a piece of them, had inadvertently captured the moment Brennan realized just how big this thing was, how thoroughly her carefully protected privacy had been destroyed.

Booth had deposited the newspaper in the trashcan in the lobby of his apartment building, never bringing it inside.

Now, Parker continued, "Yeah. Mom wouldn't let me read it, but she said I should ask you how come Bones is in trouble."

Booth grimaced, but he didn't really blame Rebecca for not wanting to explain something she only knew from an article. "Listen, bud… there was a man, who used to know Bones when she was younger and he…he was trying to hurt her. Again." Booth drew a quick breath, barely pausing long enough for Parker to ask about the first time the man had hurt Bones. "Then he showed up at Bones' place at night, trying to hurt her, and she…she had to…"

His throat tightened around the lie.

After the silence had dragged on for too long, Parker cut in. "Did she have to shoot him?"

Even as the phrase made his stomach clench, Booth was glad for his son's phrasing: as though he knew, on his own, that Brennan wouldn't have done that if she'd had any other choice. "Yeah, Parks, she did. And…the man died." Booth paused, trying to think of how to explain, how to make it okay.

Parker, though, seemed unfazed by Booth's admittance. He just sounded puzzled. "But you guys have done that before, right? If the bad guys are gonna hurt you, you _have_ to kill them, don't you?"

"You're exactly right," Booth told him. "And that's all Bones was doing, but…we weren't officially working a case. And some people don't believe that the man was trying to hurt Bones."

"How come they don't?"

"I don't know, buddy." Booth said softly. He was thinking, not for the first time, that if he hadn't screwed up the arrest, if he'd only waited for Lowell to take one photo outside the diner, none of this would have happened.

"Did they arrest Bones?"

"Yeah, they did. But she's home now, and she's okay." Booth hesitated, then, knowing he'd have to explain this soon anyway, added, "But she has to stay in the apartment…she's not allowed to go outside."

"Huh?" Booth could almost picture his son's expression: scrunched up nose, brow furrowed with confusion. "Like she's grounded?"

A laugh bubbled out of Booth, surprising him. If only it were that simple. "Kinda, Parks."

"Well…how long does she have to stay inside?"

"Just for the next few months, until the trial. You…you know what that means?"

"Yeah," Parker replied solemnly. "That's when they get a jury to decide if she's in trouble or not."

"Right," Booth murmured.

For a few moments, silence hung between the two of them, a rarity on phone calls with Parker.

Finally, he asked in a soft, uncertain voice, "Dad?"

"Yeah, pal?"

"Could Bones go to jail?"

There was another long pause, as Booth found himself staring, from his position on the couch, at a photo of Bones, Parker and himself that was sitting on the couch table.

Angela had taken it last Christmas; he'd had Parker for the second half of the day, so the boy had been with them when they'd hosted Christmas dinner at Brennan's apartment. In the picture, Parks was wearing an elf hat he'd snatched off Sweets' head, and he was laughing. Parker was standing in front of Booth, who had an arm wrapped around his chest. Brennan was standing beside them, almost leaning against Booth, and Parker had one of her hands between both of his, her arm slung over his shoulder, as though he'd been dragging her somewhere before they stopped to take a photo.

All three of them were smiling, and all of a sudden Booth's vision blurred.

"Dad?" Parker prompted, nerves threaded through his voice.

"It's a possibility, buddy," Booth admitted, his voice rough. "But I'm not going to let that happen, alright? So you don't have to worry about that."

"Okay." The relief in Parker's voice was palpable, and that complete and utter trust nearly broke Booth. "Hey, Dad? Can I talk to Bones now?"

Booth paused for a moment, listening. He couldn't hear the shower running anymore, so he started toward the bedroom. "Sure you can, pal. Just a sec, okay?"

~(B*B)~

Brennan's morning routine was very efficient, but this morning she was lingering. She could hear the distant ringing of the phone every minute or so, as well as the thud of footsteps as Booth paced the apartment, dealing with them.

Brennan wasn't ready to think about the other side of those phone calls.

Suddenly, though, the door to the bathroom opened, and Booth met her gaze in the mirror's reflection, the phone cradled in his hand. "Parker wants to talk to you." Brennan's eyes went wide, and Booth hastily assured her, "I explained it. It's okay."

Nodding a little, she took the phone, and Booth disappeared through the bathroom door. "Hello?"

"Bones?"

"Hi, Parker," Brennan replied, her voice instantly warm. She closed her eyes as the boy's voice washed over her, reminding herself that Parker was one of the many, many reasons she'd done this: he needed his father. She couldn't have let Parker spend the rest of his life only seeing Booth during visiting hours of a state prison.

"I saw you and Dad's picture on the front of the newspaper." Brennan was quiet; this was news to her, although it wasn't surprising, considering the crowd outside the courthouse yesterday, not to mention the plethora of phone calls already this morning. She doubted she'd ever see that paper, and she was equal parts relieved and morbidly curious about how much they'd uncovered. "He told me about how you got in trouble." The boy hesitated, "Sorry they didn't believe that man was trying to hurt you."

Brennan almost smiled at the simplicity of the statement. "Thank you, Parker."

"That really sucks."

She laughed a little, proud that she now understood the term Parker used with frequency. "You're right, it does suck."

"_And_ it sucks that you can't leave your apartment."

"Well, minor correction, I can't leave your _father's_ apartment," she corrected automatically. "But it's not so bad." This reassurance came automatically; she'd used it with Booth several times last night, without even taking time to consider whether or not it was true.

"I can still come stay there, right?"

"Of course you can," Brennan assured him quickly. "I just have to stay inside."

"Oh," There was a frown in Parker's voice. "I guess that means we can't use your pool, huh, Bones?"

"You can," she told him without missing a beat. "Your dad still has the keys to my place, he can take you anytime. I just wouldn't be able to accompany you."

On the heels of this explanation was a long, contemplative pause from the other end of the phone. Then, Parker said decisively, "Nah, that's okay, Bones. We'll wait 'til you can come with us."

A smile tugged at Brennan's lips just as an unexpected lump began to form in her throat. "Thanks, Parker. That's really sweet."

"And don't worry, Bones, cause Dad says he won't let them put you in jail," Parker told him, his voice utterly confident. "He'll make sure everything's okay."

~(B*B)~

Booth leaned his forehead against the wall, his eyes closed. He lingered just outside the bathroom door, listening to Brennan talking easily to Parker.

Two months until the trial. Two months Brennan was on house arrest.

Two months of limbo, until they would find out the true, final consequences of what he had done.

_And what Bones had done_, a persistent voice in the back of his head reminded Both.

That incredible guilt, the guilt that had kept him awake all night, was all consuming. It felt like Booth had swallowed knives, and every word or every movement cut him fresh.

But the anger was there, too, and something wouldn't let Booth forget that he would never have let her do this if he'd been given a choice.

They battled for dominance, the guilt and the anger, and it seemed unfathomable to Booth that, sometime in the next two months, they'd have to pretend things were normal, that Brennan wasn't on trial for a murder Booth committed.

That he could lose her forever.

Booth didn't know how to begin talking about what had happened, what could still happen, what Bones had done. But the idea of talking about ordinary, mundane things as though the world had not caved in under their feet seemed equally unfathomable.

~(B*B)~

Brennan hung up the phone on Parker and let her eyes drift shut.

Two months.

She stared into the mirror, schooling her expression into one of absolute calm.

She couldn't let Booth see how weak and exposed she felt, knowing everything Sean Lowell had done to her would soon be public knowledge (if it wasn't already). She couldn't let him know she was dreading the trial, sitting behind a witness stand not as a forensic expert , but as both a defendant and, in a way, a victim. And she couldn't let him know that she dreaded the two months of house arrest.

Booth felt guilty enough. And Brennan knew him well: Booth's guilt could be powerful, and controlling.

She was afraid of what he might do if it got too strong.

The cordless phone, still in her hand, began to ring, startling Brennan out of her thoughts. She stared down at an unrecognizable number and instantly silenced the phone.

Booth had essentially demanded she not answer the phone the minute the first call from a reporter came that morning.

She emerged from the bathroom, finally, to find Booth standing in the kitchen, getting out what were unmistakably the makings of grilled cheese sandwiches.

"Hungry?" he asked, shooting her a half smile.

Brennan returned it, nodding vigorously. "Thanks."

"Parker alright?" Booth glanced up at her as Brennan settled herself on a barstool, watching him prepare lunch.

"Yes, he only wanted to assure he'd still be allowed to visit." Brennan paused, then added, "He even said you two wouldn't go to the pool without me."

"Sweet of him," Booth replied, smiling. For a moment, they were both quiet, then Booth's hands stilled over the bread and cheese, and he raised his head to look at Brennan. "Bones, listen, I…I want to make this as easy on you as possible."

She blinked at him, expression blank. "What? Lunch?"

"No, this…house arrest." Booth grimaced at the word even as his eyes flicked automatically to the ankle monitor. "Just…tell me what I can do to make it…okay."

Brennan looked at Booth, unsurprised at the strained expression on his face, and her eyes softened. "Booth, it _is_ okay. Really." She stood up, coming around the bar and looping an arm around his neck. "Rationally speaking, considering the alternative…it was completely plausible that I could have been in jail pending trial."

Booth sighed, "Yeah, but Bones… I know how you hate being kept away from work."

She lifted her chin a fraction of an inch, determinedly unflappable. "That's true, but I expected that much. With or without house arrest…I couldn't work criminal cases as an accused murderer, Booth."

Hearing Bones refer to herself that way, with such nonchalance, sent a shudder crawling the length of Booth's spine. Silently, he returned to the grilled cheeses, his body tense.

Then, Brennan's arms slipped around his waist from behind, and Booth's body instinctually relaxed against her.

Without speaking, Brennan pressed her face against the back of Booth's neck, allowing herself a deep, calming breath before brushing her lips against his skin and then lifting them to his ear. "I'm glad it's here, Booth," she murmured simply. Booth's apartment was her favorite place in the entire world, and if she had to be confined for two months, Brennan couldn't imagine a more comforting prison.

~(B*B)~

Hours later, Brennan was stretched the length of the couch, her head pillowed comfortably on Booth's thigh. He was flicking through the television listlessly, one hand absently stroking a strand of Brennan's hair between his fingers.

Usually, Booth loved the quiet moments with Brennan, but today, he felt unsettled. They'd been quiet all through lunch; too quiet. He and Bones never ran out of things to talk about, but suddenly every potential conversation topic seemed either too heavy or too insignificant.

So when the knock at the door turned out to be Angela and Hodgins (and Allegra), Booth was unexpectedly relieved.

"Sweetie!" Passing her daughter off to Hodgins, Angela flew at her best friend, who had sat up on the couch when Booth went to answer the door. The look on Angela's face when she pulled Brennan into a hug suggested her best friend had been in jail for months rather than a single night. "Are you alright?"

Booth didn't miss the way Brennan's eyes darted to his own when she answered, "I'm fine. Really."

Hodgins walked into the living room, smiling at Brennan and speaking to his daughter. "You wanna see Aunt Bren, Al?" He passed the little girl, cooing amiably, to Brennan, who pulled her into her lap with a soft, automatic smile. Then, expression immediately serious, Hodgins met Brennan's eyes. "What can we do? For the trial."

"I'm not sure yet," Brennan told him. "The lawyer won't get the discovery for another week or so."

"Well, if you need character witnesses…we'll get up there." Hodgins jaw was set, eyes glinting, and for a moment Brennan just looked at him, understanding passing between them.

"Thank you," she said softly, grateful.

"And I saw that video tape," Angela added, fiercely. "And that day he was outside the diner, I saw him then, too. I can testify that there was a definite threat."

"Thanks," Brennan repeated, looking down at Alle as the baby curled her small fist around Brennan's finger. "Really."

"Bren?" Angela asked softly. "What exactly happened?"

Before she could stop herself, Brennan glanced hesitantly at Booth.

Suddenly, he realized what he could do, now that he wouldn't be leaving Brennan alone in the apartment. "Actually," Booth started, casually, already grabbing his jacket. "I was going to head over to Bones' place to pick up some stuff, if you guys are okay here." Booth suddenly found himself wondering if he'd imagined the flicker of relief that passed over Brennan's expression momentarily.

"I can help with that," Hodgins offered instantly, not because he thought he was genuinely needed, but merely because he sensed Angela needing to talk to Brennan alone.

Booth met Brennan's eyes. "That okay?"

"It's fine," she assured him. "Just grab anything you think I might need."

"Will do." He opened the door and froze halfway over the threshold, suddenly seized with the realization that Brennan wouldn't be able to do such a simple act for two months.

"You okay, man?" Hodgins' voice came from behind him, and numbly, Booth made himself move forward. Though he realized for the first time, that every step he took out the apartment in the next two months would make Booth hate himself, for being free when Bones wasn't.

~(B*B)~

"Was it horrible?" Angela asked quietly, her first question since the men had left a minute ago.

"Jail?" Brennan clarified. At Angela's nod, Brennan lowered her eyes, absently watching Allegra, reaching up and tangling tiny, sticky fingers in Brennan's hair. "Not at all. I was in a solitary cell, and it was only for one night." Brennan hesitated, then admitted, "The worst part of it was worrying about Booth."

"You would say that," Angela said, nearly smiling. The smile faded as quickly as it had come, though, and she repeated her earlier question, "What exactly happened?"

"Booth didn't tell you?"

"Just the bare minimum."

Brennan lifted her head, meeting Angela's open, concerned gaze.

For the first time, it was difficult for Brennan to form the lie.

In that fraction of a second, the desire to tell Angela the truth, to be able to speak freely with her best friend, gripped Brennan. On the heels of that thought, however, Brennan remembered Angela's earlier offer to testify, and the very real possibility that her statement on Sean's recent stalking could be necessary.

She couldn't ask Angela to lie on the stand.

"Sweetie?" Angela prompted, her voice gentle.

Brennan set her jaw, swallowing the truth, firmly deciding to look at this as an opportunity to rehearse her story.

"He came to the door. Booth was in the guest room. I knew I had to let Sean in, otherwise he would leave before we could prove he violated the restraining order. Booth's gun was hanging by the door." Brennan paused, mentally replaying her statement to the police, and added, "So were his handcuffs. I put them in my pocket, grabbed the gun, and opened the door."

Carefully, deliberately, Brennan told Angela about every instance Sean had tried to touch her, the moment he'd hit her, and her own efforts to disable him.

In her head, she could see it. She'd imagined it so many times, now, in an effort to make sure the forensics would back up the story, that Brennan could picture the alternate scenario nearly as clearly as the memory of what truly happened. Instead of Booth coming out just in time to see Sean hit her, to watch Brennan pin him against the table, she imagined Booth not emerging, imagined Sean breaking free of her hold. She imagined herself backing away of her own volition, rather than driven back by Booth. She imagined Sean instantly coming at her again, cutting out everything terrible and sickeningly familiar he'd said to her in front of Booth.

She imagined shooting him. Pulling the trigger, twice.

Angela's face was white when Brennan finished. "I don't understand," she said softly. "He attacked you, he…he came to your house."

"He wasn't armed. I let him in, and…they think I didn't have to shoot kill him. That I could have fought him off." Brennan paused, then added, "My lawyer says…the prosecution will be trying to prove I had a motive for revenge. Because of what he did to me." For the first time, Brennan's calm, dispassionate façade cracked, and she looked at Angela with a pained expression. "They're going to ask me about all of it."

Angela's dark eyes were glittering with sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Sweetie," she whispered thickly. Angela had seen how hard it had been for Brennan to even tell Booth the truth about what Sean Lowell had done to her; she couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to go through it all again, with the whole world watching.

"What are the papers saying?" Brennan asked her quietly, the question she hadn't allowed herself to ask Booth.

Angela was quiet for a moment. Finally, she stated carefully, "It's not too bad. They all mention the restraining order, and the fact that he broke it and showed up at your door. It's not making it sound like you went on a vengeful rampage or something."

With a dismissive shake of her head, Brennan clarified, "No, I don't mean that. What are they saying about…my connection to Sean Lowell?"

Angela winced slightly, reaching out and touching her fingers to the soft, wispy hair on her daughters head. Finally, she admitted, "Just the general background, Bren. They say he was your foster father and explain…why he went to prison."

Brennan's face had gone white, but she nodded stoically. "I'm not surprised." She paused, glancing automatically at the phone. "They've been calling here all morning."

"I guess with Booth in those photos, it wasn't hard for them to track you down, even here," Angela commented with a sigh. There was a pause, and then Angela said in a low voice, "I'm glad he can't hurt you anymore, Bren. But I'm sorry you're having to go through all this."

Brennan didn't reply for a long moment; her face was set in a contemplative expression. Finally, she said in a quiet voice, "Don't tell Booth, okay?"

Somewhat taken aback by the seemingly random directive, Angela frowned. "Don't tell Booth what, Sweetie?"

"That I'm…uncomfortable about everyone knowing," she explained. "I can't let him see that it bothers me so much."

Confusion was etched in Angela's features. "Bren, I…I'm sure Booth knows that. He saw how hard it was for you to tell _him_ and…besides, you can talk to him, Sweetie. He'll want to know how you're feeling."

"_No_." The word was forceful and unyielding. "I don't want him to feel even more guilty, Ange. Not about that, not about the house arrest, the trial, anything."

"Why would he feel guilty?" For a moment, panic tightened around Brennan's lungs, her mouth going dry, acceptable explanations leaving her. Thankfully, though, Angela answered her own question, albeit erroneously. "Because he couldn't make the arrest stick? Or because he didn't hear Sean come to the apartment in time?"

"Both, I suppose," Brennan replied immediately, relief pulsing through her tone. "You know how Booth can be."

~(B*B)~

"What are you doing?"

Startled, Brennan glanced over her shoulder to find Booth standing over her, his jaw set, eyes glinting. He wasn't looking at her, but at her laptop's monitor.

"Why are you reading that?" Booth asked again, harsher than he intended.

Forcing her expression to remain impassive, Brennan said mildly, "I was just curious about what angle the media were pursuing in writing about what happened."

Reaching around her shoulder, Booth shut the laptop screen and the online article on Brennan's arraignment and alleged crime. "I don't want you to have to read that crap," he muttered, by way of explanation. He'd brought the laptop back from Brennan's apartment earlier that afternoon, a decision he was regretting.

"I assumed they'd find out about what he did to me, Booth," Brennan assured him softly. "It wasn't a surprise."

Booth lifted his head and looked at her, eyes pained. "I'm sorry."

"It's _fine_, Booth. Rationally speaking, it would have been revealed in the trial anyway."

Booth shook his head a little. He wondered if Brennan realized, even now, how brutal the trial was going to be. Since they were arguing self defense, it would be almost crucial that Brennan took the stand on her own behalf. And the prosecution would try to push her to the brink during a cross-examination, make her go through detailed memories of what Sean had done to her in hopes of breaking her, showing that the past still haunted her enough to make her seek revenge.

He had a sudden flash of Brennan's face in his office, eyes brimming with terror, tears streaming, as she handed him the file that would tell her story.

She hadn't been able to tell it herself, not even to him. And now she would have to do it in front of a room full of her friends, of strangers, of reporters.

And all Booth would be able to do was sit and bear witness.

~(B*B)~

Booth took the rest of the week off from work. He stayed in the apartment with Brennan as much as possible and it surprised both of them how small the apartment began to feel.

In normal circumstances, maybe, it would have hardly seemed like punishment to be confined to any space that included only the two of them. But that was Before. Before there were long, drawn out spaces between their words that were filled with guilt and resentment and worry. Before Brennan had stopped being able to tell Booth anything she was feeling, for fear that the truth would hurt Booth far more than holding it together would hurt Brennan.

But it was exhausting, pretending to be content, when in reality her fingers were itching to hold bone, when her mind was growing stagnant and purposeless. When she stared out windows and imagined the cool, crisp air on the other side of the glass.

Booth, though, was torturing himself enough. So Brennan plastered on a carefree smile and acted as though his concern was ridiculous and unheeded.

Every brief errand that sent Booth out of the apartment had him apologizing, his words tripping over each other as he assured her he wouldn't be long, even though, for the most part, she'd suggested the trip: a craving for food, a trip to the bank or grocery store or pharmacy, or occasionally back to Brennan's apartment for something they'd missed.

In short, Booth acted as though leaving the apartment when Brennan couldn't was a cardinal sin. One morning, she woke up to find him sliding on running shoes, and couldn't stop the brief flicker of longing that came over her expression.

They'd started running together months ago, several times a week, any morning when a case wasn't so pressing that they needed to be early to work. In that moment, Brennan's legs ached, she so badly wanted to be outside, moving, unrestricted.

As quickly as it had slipped, however, her calm, unaffected expression was back in place. Booth hadn't missed the change, however, and his own face was immediately stricken.

"Sorry," he muttered, heat rising to his cheeks as he violently jerked off his shoes.

"Booth, you're allowed to go for a run."

"I don't have to," he protested quickly.

Impatient, Brennan threw back the bed covers and stood, retrieving the shoes from where Booth had flung them and thrusting them at him. "_Here_," her voice was firm, though Booth just stared at his shoes, not making a move to take them.

For the next ten minutes they talked in circles, Brennan becoming increasingly annoyed as she insisted Booth leave the apartment.

"You _have_ to stop acting like you're breaking a law every time you set foot outside," she told him impatiently. "_You_ aren't the one on house arrest, Booth."

"But I _should_ be," Booth reminded her hotly, his guilt twisting, seamlessly, into something more akin to anger. "You _do_ remember that, don't you?"

"Of course," Brennan retorted dismissively. "But it's irrelevant." She sighed, running a hand through her hair, frustrated. "Booth, I don't mind. Really. I want you to be able to go jogging if you want to go jogging." Again, she held out his shoes. "Please. I'll get started on breakfast."

Finally, because it seemed to be what she wanted, Booth acquiesced. He left the apartment, running shoes back on his feet, and took off.

It had been an unusually lengthy break since his last run, but Booth showed himself no mercy. He ran faster and further than his usual route. He ran without ceasing. He ran until his muscles were crying out in agony, until his lungs ached, his throat stinging from the cold, sharp air.

He ran like he was punishing himself.

~(B*B)~

A week after the arraignment, the night before Booth was supposed to go back to work (though no one had called to confirm this, and Booth was toying with the idea of just picking up paperwork and coming back home), there was a knock on the door of the apartment.

As soon as he saw the person standing on the other side, a small, hot ball of fury began to form in Booth's chest, automatically, with no real explanation.

"Where is she?" Max asked instantly. He was holding a well known, nationally circulated magazine in his hand, the pages folded back to an article on Brennan.

With a force that surprised even Booth, he pulled the magazine from Max's hand and tossed it into the hallway. The heat in his chest flared, though Booth couldn't have explained why the mere sight of Brennan's dad caused such a reaction.

"Dad?" Brennan's voice, surprised, sounded from behind them, and without waiting for further invitation, Max slid past Booth and headed into the living room, toward his daughter.

Max hugged his daughter, wordlessly, and over her father's shoulder, Brennan met Booth's eyes with a panicked gaze.

"Why did no one tell me?" Max demanded as soon as he pulled away, glancing between Booth and Brennan, a look in his eyes that was almost accusatory.

The coal pit of rage in Booth's chest burned hotter. "We've been a little preoccupied, _Max_," he gritted out. "Letting you know wasn't really first priority."

Max shook his head impatiently. "I meant when this bastard first got released , when all this started. You know I would have taken care of it."

Brennan winced slightly, her usual reaction when he father blithely referred to killing someone, but Booth barely noticed. He was on his feet, his fury bubbling over, the reason for it suddenly clear as he loomed over Max. "Oh, really, Max? You would have taken care of it? _Now_, twenty years after the fact, you want to take care of her? Just swoop back in and make it go away?" Booth narrowed his eyes, his voice shaking with anger as he bit out, "If you'd have taken care of her when you should have, he never would have laid a hand on her!"

Booth's chest was heaving, and for a long moment, silence buzzed around them, no one moving, the weight of Booth's words, the truth no one wanted to say, bearing down on them. Then, slowly and deliberately, Max stood, body tense, his eyes nearly black with rage. For just a moment, Booth could clearly see how the generally affable ex-con could kill a man.

Then, Max visibly wilted in front of them. His entire face fell, eyes drifting shut; when they opened, the heat was gone, replaced with bruised and broken regret. "I had no idea," Max whispered, his voice barely audible. He turned to his daughter then, gaze wide and beseeching. "Honey, I don't…I don't know what I can say."

Booth, too, turned to look at Brennan, and his heart clenched.

Brennan was visibly shutting down, curling into herself; Booth's anger turned instantly inward. He shouldn't have brought it up, no matter how much it bothered him that Max could storm in here and hide his own guilt.

He knew Brennan had never told her father, or her brother, anything about her experiences in foster care. It wasn't all about sparing them the burden; it was about protecting herself, a self preservation against fixating on their abandonment, on all the consequences they'd never considered. It was about pretending they had no part in what happened to her.

Max sat down on the couch next to Brennan, resting a hand on her thigh. The moment he touched her, Brennan closed her eyes, blocking out the sorrow on her father's face. "Tempe, if I'd have known…"

"Dad. It hardly matters now. It's over. " Brennan's voice was calm and dismissive, but Booth could hear the barest note of pleading underneath it all.

"No," Max replied vehemently. "Booth's right. There's no excuse I…I put you in that situation." Max sighed, his fingers tiredly working at his temples. "It's just we never imagined…even when we heard Russ had left-"

At that, Brennan's eyes flew open, surprise and hurt clouding her expression before she could hide it. "How did you know that?"

"Your mother and I, we had a friend watching you kids, someone we trusted who could get in touch with us…but then he had to clear out, too, got too dangerous, and we lost our updates after a few months."

Brennan's eyes found Booth's, a strange sort of panic in her gaze. Booth understood, suddenly, that Brennan had clung to an assumption: that her parents, as far as they knew, were simply leaving her with her older brother.

Not in foster care. Not with strangers.

Not with a man who beat and raped her.

Max was staring at Brennan, desperate, waiting for her response. "Honey?"

Booth forced himself to speak, "Max, maybe you should-"

"I don't want to talk about this now," Brennan cut in suddenly, her voice resolutely steady. "It was a long time ago. It has no bearing on anything that's happening now, and…and there's no reason to discuss it."

"Okay," Booth said softly, before Max could protest. He sat down on her other side, silently reaching out and threading their fingers together, shooting Max a warning look over Brennan's head.

Max stared him down for a moment, then gave an imperceptible nod. Clearing his throat, he changed the subject, "So. Your lawyer's good, right?"

~(B*B)~

Later that night, though, when they could hear Max snoring through the walls from Parker's bedroom, Booth slipped behind Brennan in front of the bathroom sink, his arms going around his waist.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

Brennan's eyes met his in the reflection of the mirror, genuine confusion on her face. "Why are you sorry?"

"For bringing up all that stuff…yelling at your father." Booth sighed, his stomach twisting in self-deprecation. "I have no business accusing him of anything. Look at what I'm putting you through, right now-"

With a swiftness that startled him, Brennan whirled to face Booth. "_Don't_." The protest was fierce and forceful. "Don't even attempt to draw a correlation. I chose this."

"I know," Booth replied softly, regret tingeing his words.

Brennan sighed. "It's foolish but…it was an effect I hadn't considered. That he and Russ would find out what happened…I assumed, of course, there would be media attention I just…never considered specific implications."

Booth merely nodded, but his gut had twisted so tight he couldn't breathe.

It was funny how the guilt, even though it never went away, could intensify and drown him in so many different moments. The consequences of this thing, the many ways it was hurting her, were endless and complicated, threads that kept unraveling, and it killed Booth that he couldn't begin to fix them all.

He wanted to say that it was good that they knew, in a way. Tonight, that surging rush of anger toward Max had proved that Booth could never reconcile what he (and Russ) had done to Brennan. Especially since he'd now knew the truth about what she'd been through, what Sean Lowell had done to her…_no one_ could possibly argue it had been for her own good.

But they shouldn't have found out like this. Not from the media, not before Brennan was ready, not in a way that made it harder on her.

So Booth said none of that; he merely rested his chin on her shoulder and unconsciously tightening his grip on her as Brennan turned back to the mirror. "I'm sorry," he muttered again.

"Don't," Brennan told him, the word gentle this time. She had remembered herself, and immediately forced rationale into her voice, banishing emotion. "It was my own oversight. But it wouldn't have changed what I did, Booth, I just…would have been better prepared."

"You never would have told him." It wasn't a question.

"Of course not," Brennan replied, shaking her head as though the very idea was ludicrous. "What would that have accomplished?" Her impassive expression faltered. "Though I never…I never even considered that he and my mother might have been watching us. That they knew Russ left and still…" She clamped her lips shut, inwardly berating herself.

"…and still stayed away," Booth finished for her, his voice soft. He brushed his lips against her hairline, comforting. Right now, Booth couldn't bring himself to defend any member of her family. "You deserved better than that. Than them."

She leaned against him, grateful, but a voice in the back of Booth's head couldn't help but add that she deserved better than what he'd done, too.

~(B*B)~

Since Sean Lowell was first released from prison, Brennan had been dreaming in memories.

She'd spent her entire adult life distancing, trying to repress everything about the months she'd lived with Sean Lowell. She made rational, deliberate decisions not to think about it, and it certainly wasn't something she talked about.

Yet ever since he'd reentered her life, Brennan would wake up with recollections bursting in front of her eyes, feeling as though she'd just relived a moment.

That's all they were, those dreams: random moments, from that time in her life, playing out with little exaggeration or discrepancies from reality.

Since he'd died, the dreams hadn't stopped. She'd gone from being terrified that history might repeat itself, in some manner, to being afraid of recounting that history for all to see, of having all those memories she'd tried to repress dragged on display.

On the night her father stayed over, falling asleep on the heels of everything Max had revealed, Brennan dreamed memories from the end of it all, and she woke up remembering things she hadn't thought about in years.

She'd found out, later, that she'd been unconscious, barely clothed and tied to her bed when the police came. But the first thing she remembered was waking up in the ER, faces looming above her, lights flashing in her eyes.

Brennan wished she'd stayed unconscious, just so she'd never be able to remember how they knew without asking to do a pelvic exam, from the blood staining her legs. How they'd shined a light all over her body, looking for evidence. How the few bits of clothes she was wearing were bagged. How they'd taken photographs.

How she started panicking the moment they tried to guide her legs apart, into stirrups. How she'd thrashed and kicked and started whimpering, instinctual and childlike, "I want my mom, I want my mom_, I want my mom_!"

How a sweet, well-meaning nurse who had just entered the room had taken her hand and told her, "I'm sure she's on her way, honey", before whispering to the doctor to ask if Brennan's parents had been called.

How this, more than anything, was what started Brennan sobbing, even as the doctor whispered something in the nurse's ear that made the woman's entire face soften with sympathy.

Brennan woke up, gasping, with that image in her head, the smell of the hospital room in curling in her nostrils, a years old sob rounding in her throat, and the brief, childish desire for her mother overwhelming her.

Her breathing harsh, Brennan moved a little closer to Booth on the bed, chest heaving. There were tears, slick on her face and mingling with sweat, and Brennan slid against Booth's side, careful not to wake him; the closeness was the only comfort she could allow herself these days.

Brennan knew, intellectually, that her father knowing the truth made no difference. Just like it made no difference that he and her mother had known, back then, that she was in foster care. What had happened to her in the past was over, and it was unchanging.

Sean Lowell was dead. It was over in a way it had never been, even during his years in prison. Yet recalling the nights she'd lain awake, wishing for her dad to reappear and rescue her, or pretend that her mother could somehow walk into the hospital and fold Brennan into her arms…those recollections suddenly stung fresh.

But like the rest of it, she couldn't tell Booth. All of this, Max's revelations…it was because of the trial. So Booth would think it was his fault.

After years and years of guarding her emotions and rarely discussing them, it was surprising to Brennan how hard it was to pretend with Booth.

~(B*B)~

Booth knew what she was doing.

For the first week and a half on house arrest, Brennan was unflappable. He knew how much she hated purposelessness and empty time, yet by all appearances, Brennan was undeterred by her limitations in the apartment.

His apologies and sympathies were met with dismissals that they were unnecessary. His questions about whether she needed anything to make the house arrest easier were met with insistences that it wasn't especially difficult. Brennan even endured Max's visit with a stoic expression and repeated statements that it didn't bother her, in spite of the raw, pained expression on her face that Booth wouldn't be forgetting any time soon.

But she wasn't fooling Booth, in spite of her best attempts.

So he did what he could, without being asked.

The day after his guilt ridden run, Booth moved pieces of a dissembled treadmill up to his apartment (he'd borrowed it from the gym in Hodgins) and put it together for her. He brought Parker over for a weekend visit, hoping the boy would inject some life into the apartment. He took it upon himself, the morning after Max's arrival, to pull the older man aside and highly recommended he not stay much longer. He called Alex nearly every day, asking if the prosecution had sent the discovery yet, knowing that a meeting with the lawyer, no matter what news it brought, would mean a sanctioned trip out of the apartment.

In the days after Max's single night with them, Brennan was quieter, a bit withdrawn. Though she admitted to no distress, it was enough for Booth to delay his return to work for a few more days, only stopping by the Hoover for some paperwork on his way back from picking up diner takeout.

Eventually, though, Booth had to go back to work. He was surly and short with everyone there, and for the most part, colleagues gave him his space, other than the few who sidled up to him in the hallways to let him know that they thought the arrest was bullshit.

He was guilty and distracted the whole first day back, thinking of Brennan, on her own in the apartment with empty hours stretching in front of her. Angela, Cam and Hodgins were picking up takeout and going to the apartment to eat with Brennan on their lunch break, so Booth worked through lunch to make up for lost time.

Still, it was a relief to step through the door of the apartment. "Hey, Bones? I brought you something."

She looked up from her place on the couch. She was dressed in knit shorts and one of Booth's faded flannel shirts over a tank top; her legs were stretched the length of the couch, her laptop balanced on her thighs.

Brennan smiled at him, but Booth didn't miss the dull, glazed look in her eyes before they landed on him. "You what?"

Kicking his shoes off, Booth approached the couch, sitting down as Brennan automatically curled her legs to make room for him. Then, smiling hopefully, he handed her the box tucked under his arms. "Open it."

Looking intrigued, Brennan pried open the lid, and then brushed aside bits of cotton and newspaper to reveal fifty or so fragments of bone, each labeled with a tiny number, drawn in India ink, that corresponded to an accompanying sheet of paper, marking the gravesite and date of discovery.

Brennan's fingers brushed over the fragments, sifting through them, and when she lifted her face, her eyes were gleaming, lips curled into a smile. "You brought me a skull?"

Grinning, Booth nodded. "Yeah. And the stuff you need to assemble it…Cam told me what to get. And don't worry, it's not forensics, it's for the museum. He's from the Dark Ages, apparently."

"_She_," Brennan corrected automatically, even as she moved the box to the coffee table so she could hug Booth, practically crawling on his lap on the narrow couch.

Booth pulled her closer, his own smile unfurling easily as he recognized the genuine happiness dancing in Brennan's eyes, rather than the poor imitation she'd been wearing for his benefit lately. "You can tell that, just from those pieces?" he murmured against her ear, though of course Booth wasn't surprised.

"Pieces of the mandible," she explained, drawing back so she could kiss him softly. "Thank you, Booth."

"Thought you might like something to do," he explained; Brennan was already turning her attention back to the box of bones, and Booth stood from the couch. "I'll bring in the rest of the stuff."

When he came back, Brennan was standing over the kitchen table, having already separated the bones into six lines and was laying pieces of them out, end to end. He handed her Durofix glue, a pair of gloves, and something Cam had called plasticine pillars, which would support pieces of the skull while she put it together.

Brennan smiled at him as he handed over the items, and Booth pulled up a chair, close to the table, and watched her work.

He'd never really watched this process solely to watch it; it was always with the impatient need for information, a weapon or an ID or a cause of death.

Now, he just let himself absorb the details. The focused, intent look in Brennan's eyes as she studied the minute fragments, or the grace and dexterity of her fingers as she meticulously fit the smallest of pieces together.

Over the next hour, Brennan assembled the fragments like some three dimensional jigsaw puzzle, a skull taking shape from what, to Booth's eyes, had been indistinguishable bits.

She glanced up after awhile, and smiled at the awestruck expression on his face. "What? You've seen me do this many times, Booth."

"I know," he said simply, eyes soft as he watched her, though a pang hit him somewhere in the chest as he realized how much she must be missing things like this.

Soon, Brennan carefully sat the skull on the pillars, having fit together the various sections she'd reassembled. "It just has to dry now."

For a moment, Booth stared into the hollow, empty eyes of the skull.

"Booth?"

At Brennan's voice, he looked up.

She gave him a small smile. "Thank you. It was…nice. Having something like this to do."

He smiled back; this was the closest Brennan had come to admitting any issues with the house arrest.

As quickly as she said it though, Brennan's face froze, and she hastily added, "Although a break hasn't been unwelcome, either."

Booth's smile wilted slightly, but he forced his tone to remain light as he replied, "Well, I'm glad you liked it, Bones. I told Cam to look into some other stuff I can bring you to work on."

And he did; most days, for the rest of that second week of house arrest, Booth came back with some sort of project from Brennan, hoping to give her a few hours of purpose. He brought home DVDs and joked that he was using this opportunity to educate her in the area of pop culture. He took as many lunch breaks as he could back at the apartment, or made sure that some other member of the team went by to visit.

~(B*B)~

Though she was trying to pretend it was no big deal, Brennan couldn't wait; she outpaced Booth on the stairs of his apartment building and burst outside before him, a noise of involuntary relief drawing itself out of her throat as the cold air rushed over her.

Brennan closed her eyes, drawing in deep, greedy breaths. She stretched her spine, a tension she hadn't been aware of draining from her body, as though she'd been stunting herself over the past two weeks in the apartment.

After a moment, Brennan felt Booth's hand rest lightly on her back. He glanced down at her, an understanding smile playing on his lips. All he said, though, was, "Nice out."

Brennan nodded in agreement, though the air had the hard, biting quality that indicated fall was rapidly segueing into winter.

Booth watched her for a moment, wondering if Brennan was aware at how deeply she was breathing, how her eyes were pools of pure relief. Then, reluctantly, he tangled his fingers in hers and murmured, "We should get going."

Without protest, Brennan nodded, and together they walked to the car, on their way to Alex Bennett's law office, the red light on Brennan's ankle monitor conspicuously absent for the occasion.

They were quiet on the drive over; at one point, Booth cut his eyes at Brennan, staring avidly out the window, watching the world speed by, reveling in the movement of the car. Without saying a word, he rolled down the windows on both sides, letting cool air rush into the vehicle.

When they got to Alex's office, Booth lingered in the trunk of the car as he gathered the box he'd put there earlier this morning, containing all the evidence Alex had asked them to bring on Sean Lowell's recent stalking. He could hear the crunch of Brennan's shoes on the parking lot gravel as she paced in front of the car.

After a moment of this, she came up beside him, her cheeks pink with pleasure and cold. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just getting the stuff organized." He smiled innocently as he lifted the box, just as organized as it had been when he first put it in the car. "You okay?"

Brennan nodded vigorously, and Booth couldn't help but grin at her. The novelty of leaving the apartment had eclipsed any nerves over what the discovery might reveal.

It was with only minimal reluctance that Brennan fell into step with Booth and headed inside Alex's office; it was nice just to walk, anywhere that wasn't the distance from the bedroom to the kitchen to the living room in Booth's apartment.

Alex's receptionist waved them right inside her office, promising the lawyer would be in momentarily. Booth and Brennan sat down in the two leather chairs across from Alex's desk, waiting for her to arrive, and Booth set the box that contained surveillance tapes, cards, flowers, fingerprint test results, Sean's criminal file, and the entirety of his letters from prison on the floor beside his chair.

They'd barely been inside a minute when the door opened and Alex breezed in, holding a cup of coffee. "Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan." Booth watched her eyes sweep over Brennan, brow furrowing in slight concern. Already Brennan had lost weight, and in the bright light of day Booth had noticed she looked paler than usual, a little less healthy. "How are you doing, Dr. Brennan?"

The note of concern was clear in Alex's voice, but Brennan's tone was mild as she replied, "Fine, thank you. And you don't have to use the Dr…or the Agent title." Her eyes flitted involuntarily to the box at Booth's feet. "We'll be getting fairly familiar throughout this case, I imagine."

Alex lips twitched into a grin. "Just familiar enough to use last names, huh?"

"Everyone else does, pretty much." Booth said, trying to keep the conversation, and his tone, light. But he was already staring at the thick folder in Alex's hand.

"Then I can do that," Alex agreed amiably. Her eyes fell again on Brennan, who, unlike Booth, didn't seem to be too preoccupied with the purpose of the meeting. Her gaze was fixed out the window, a longing expression in her eyes.

Noticing what had Brennan's attention, Alex hesitated only briefly, then offered casually, "It's sunny out, and I've been stuck in the office all morning…would you guys mind meeting outside?"

Brennan nodded enthusiastically, already standing. "That would be fine."

Booth leveled his gaze with Alex's, his gratitude palpable, and she nodded slightly before picking up the file, pulling on a coat and leading the two of them out of the building.

There was a section of several concrete picnic tables in a tiny courtyard outside, and they sat down at one, Booth and Brennan one side, Alex on the other. The lawyer arched an eyebrow in their direction as she extended the folder. "I'm guessing you two want to go over all this without me walking you through it?"

Booth nodded gratefully, practically snatching the thick folder from her hand as he pushed his own box of evidence toward her. "You look through this while we take a look at the discovery?"

Alex nodded, agreeable. "But then we're going to need to come together and discuss it. Sound good?"

Again, Booth nodded, placing the folder in front of himself and Brennan, who for the first time seemed focused on the task at hand. She immediately began sifting through the papers, predictably pulling out the Medical Examiners autopsy report and the forensic analysis papers, leaving Booth with the rest.

Brennan's eyes moved avidly over the information, treating each piece of evidence as a variable, playing out the scenario in her mind like some mental recreation on the Angelator.

She'd been careful, and thorough, with her statement, but her insides went weak with relief as she stared as the autopsy report that, in black and white, scientifically corroborated her story.

Each injury she'd given him had left its mark. There was trauma on his proximal phalanges, evidence that he'd struck her (though the photograph of her face, black and blue and swollen, had been a strong indicator of that fact). The struggle was clear, as was the fact it had occurred directly premortem, as the blood from Sean's bruises had just begun to rise to his skin's surface. There was evidence to support her claim that he was moving forward, toward her, when the shots were fired.

The autopsy report also showed that the two shots had been fired one after the other, and the second was the cause of death. The first bullet had lodged in the rib cage, while the second had punctured his lung in both entry and exit.

Sean Lowell had taken several minutes to die. He had been shot from a range of about seven feet. He had been moving forward.

Exhaling slowly, relief pulsing through her, Brennan flipped to the forensic report.

Both she and Booth's fingerprints were on the gun, which would be expected, as the gun belonged to him. Their fingerprints were all over the butt and barrel of the gun, but only Brennan's had been found conclusively on the trigger.

Blood spatter pattern analysis further confirmed that Sean had been standing, and moving, before collapsing with the shot. Gunpowder residue had been found on his clothing.

When Brennan had read everything in front of her, she flipped back to the ME's report and began to go over it again, applying it to what she'd told the police, to the partially fictitious scenario playing out in her head, oblivious to Booth or Alex.

Meanwhile, inches away, Booth's stomach was in knots as he attempted to absorb the rest of the files.

He began by going through the transcripts from Detective Kinley's interviews. His and Brennan's were first, and though he was relieved to see that nothing she said contradicted his own story, Booth winced as he ran his eyes over the latter half of his interview, when Kinley had grilled him on the times Brennan had gotten physically violent with suspects, any time she had to defend herself.

There were other interviews, too, pages of them. Kinley had interviewed Lowell's parole officer, whose dislike of Booth shown through as he insisted that he'd had no reason to think Sean had been in contact with his victim before the night of his death, how Booth had withheld his suspicions until the arrest attempt, and how the arrest attempt itself had been seemingly groundless.

That point had only been reinforced by Christina Shaw, Lowell's lawyer, who seemed in full defense mode in spite of her clients demise, reiterating the lack of grounds for arrest and the lack of evidence connecting her client to the other instances of stalking, as well as a dig at Booth's method of arrest.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Booth continued. The polie officers he'd dealt with had given their own statements, and though they weren't as damaging, Booth could imagine what the prosecution could do with the fact that he'd made it clear that his police report was a formality…make it seem like he hadn't wanted their involvement because there was a lack of evidence connecting Sean. They also reported the fact that their search of Sean's apartment had turned up no evidence of stalking.

Booth knew the crux of Alex's defense would mean proving that, even before he showed up at her apartment in the middle of the night, Brennan had every reason to believe Sean Lowell was a threat to her life. That his appearance at her apartment that night was merely a confirmation of what had been building ever since he got out of prison.

And there was so much terrifying evidence of the stalking. But, as had been the problem for weeks, no definitive way beyond pure logic to prove Sean Lowell was behind it.

The prosecution would be looking to discredit Brennan, and to downplay the idea of the threat. They could even suggest that she'd orchestrated the evidence herself, merely to have an excuse to seek revenge for what he'd done to her.

As Booth continued, he came to an interview with a name he didn't recognize. As his eyes roved over the statements, he felt his throat tighten. "Who the hell is Holly Witherspoon?"

Alex glanced up from one of Sean's letters, her expression mild. "Don't worry, she's not a reliable witness."

"But who the hell is _she_?"

The panic in his tone seemed to strike something in Brennan, who looked up from the forensic reports for the first time since they'd been outside.

"Sean's fiancee," Alex answered. At Booth and Brennan's identical expression of surprise, she explained, "_Supposedly. _According to her, they started seeing each other while he was in prison."

"But…" Booth's eyes were glowing with fury, his hands clenched around the paper. "But when I interrogated him, he said he moved back here to reconcile with his wife."

"Which is exactly why we can easily discredit their relationship," Alex told him firmly. "There are records confirming that she visited and wrote to Sean frequently in prison…but he's hardly around to confirm that they were getting married. Last we heard from him, he was trying to reconcile with his wife." This logic seemed to satisfy Brennan, who lowered her eyes back to the papers in front of her without even glancing at Holly Witherspoon's interview. Alex, though, hesitated. "Except…"

"Except?" Booth demanded.

"No one's been able to track down the wife, Annie Lowell, yet. Even though she's supposedly living in DC." Booth's face hardened, panic swirling in his eyes. Alex softened her tone, "Booth, look, there is a very good chance she's just one of those insane women who fall in love with inmates…Lowell served time with her father, and they met when she was visiting him." Alex lifted a stack of Sean's letters to Brennan and said dryly, "We've already got evidence that directly disputes one of her most emphatic statements…that Lowell hasn't thought of Brennan in years."

At that, Brennan looked up, her eyebrows drawing together. "What does this woman say exactly?"

Booth met her eyes, grimacing. "She tries to make it seem like Sean couldn't have been following you, because she was with him when some of the tape was filmed. Or that he never mentions you, and was supposed to be meeting her at the diner the day he got arrested. Which makes it seem like _that's_ why he was outside."

Fear flickered briefly in Brennan's eyes, but Alex merely rolled her own. "Sure, but notice how conveniently vague she was in every instance. Any date Kinley asked her, she immediately said Sean was with her…only her. She didn't even wait to hear a time. When Kinley asked about the day Sean was murdered, she nearly said she was with him all day again…had to backtrack to clarify the she was with him _until_ he went to Brennan's…although she couldn't seem to come up with a good reason for his little visit."

Booth stared down at the transcript, unconvinced.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Chris Gold declines to put her on his witness list," Alex stated wryly. "And if does, lucky us, because I could drive a train through the holes in her story." She looked Booth, then Brennan in the eyes, serious. "Relax."

Brennan nodded, returning to her perusing of the same report again and again, and Booth tried to swallow his uncertainty as he pushed the interview transcripts aside.

Only to find himself facing a folder of Brennan's criminal record.

"How did they get these?" he demanded, causing Brennan and Alex to look up, startled.

"An early subpoena," Alex told him. "Gold's being proactive, apparently."

Brennan glanced over, realizing what the folder was, and shrugged. "Booth, we assumed these would be brought up."

Her assault charges, and her arrest for shooting an unarmed man in the leg, which brought with them the information that she was trained in three times of martial arts, a registered marksman with the NRDC, and everything else Booth had learned years ago, when she was, yet again, arrested for murder in New Orleans.

Alex met Brennan's eyes. "I can submit a motion to have them ruled out as evidence, but I honestly doubt the judge will go for it." Brennan nodded slightly, and Alex continued, "But they're not necessarily against our case…it proves that you've been in situations of physical threat before, but never killed when it wasn't absolutely necessary."

"Or the prosecution will say that it shows she has violent tendencies, and that she had more reason to hate Sean than the others," Booth muttered, his eyes dark. Fear was choking him; this was honestly worse than he'd thought, but he wasn't sure why he felt the need to voice every concern, why he was trying to show Brennan the flaws in her great plan.

Under the table, Brennan laid a hand on his thigh, gentle and calming. Alex, though, regarded Booth with obvious annoyance.

"They probably will," she agreed coolly. "But you forget, _they_'re the ones with the burden of proof. And, as I've said, this case is particularly tough on proof."

"Booth, it's alright," Brennan murmured. As Booth watched, she reached out toward his discarded stack of police interviews, pulling out only her own to reread, presumably double checking that it squared with the forensic facts.

Brennan seemed uninterested in the rest of the evidence against her.

His heart pounding dully in his chest, Booth turned to the next folder in the stacker. It was a copy of Sean's criminal records, the same one Brennan had brought him weeks ago, somehow complete with a duplicate tape. This explained why Alex had yet to take a look at the one in the box Booth provided.

For a moment, he was confused as to why this, this recollection of Sean's horror, was somehow useful to the prosecution. Then, he remembered: their entire case was built on Brennan's need for revenge. And they would use this information to prove it…most likely through Brennan's own testimony, the thought of which never failed to make Booth feel dizzy and nauseous with regret.

He shoved the folder aside, far too familiar with its contents, and found himself staring at another file stamped with Brennan's name; this time, though, it was the file from her time in the system. A sound clawed its way out of his throat.

"They subpoenaed that, too," Alex explained, seeing what he was holding. Brennan, too, looked at the folder, and her eyes widened, the intensely focused expression on her face truly cracking for the first time since they sat down.

Without thinking, Brennan jerked the folder away from him, curling it protectively against her chest. There was more than Sean Lowell in there; though the eight months in his home had been inarguably her low point in the system, but that didn't mean it was the single instance of horror or humiliation.

Booth blinked at her, taken aback by the swift movement. Brennan's hands tightened around the file, and for a moment, Alex's gaze flitted between the two of them. After a pause, she deliberately set down the card in her hand. "Why don't we take break from all this and talk?"

Brennan nodded so gratefully that the protests rising in Booth's throat instantly dissolved. Clumsily they piled the stacks and folders of papers together, and turned to face Alex like dutiful school children awaiting instruction.

"Alright," Alex said, her voice serious. "It's not bad." Booth made a skeptical sound, but Brennan nodded, as though she agreed. "None of the interviews corroborate Sean's stalking, but that doesn't matter. You've admitted yourselves there was nothing but circumstantial evidence…and it's a hell of a lot of circumstantial evidence. Besides, the interviews make Agent Booth look the one with anger issues, no offense."

Booth felt heat rise to his cheeks, and Brennan stole a quick look at him that seemed to say _You see?_ He couldn't help a flash of annoyance; they were literally surrounded by evidence against her, evidence that would be used to discredit her, and still she thought she had been right.

"I'd like to talk to a few of these people myself…I know Christina Shaw vaguely, and she's in full lawyer mode here. It's like someone forgot to tell her her client's dead, and she doesn't need to defend him anymore. That parole officer's got a chip on his shoulder, too, so he may be persuaded to be a little more candid than he was with our esteemed detective.

"And as for this…" Alex patted the box Booth had brought. "It makes a strong case. The sign off, in Sean's letters…you're right, the wording is very distinctive, not to mention completely consistent."

"Won't they just say Bones could have wrote them herself?" The question was out before Booth could stop it. "Since she knew his sign off?"

Alex gave him a measured glance. "They could. But they'd be hard pressed to argue that she took the video of herself…it's not a fixed surveillance; there are several instances of camera movement, even if it's just a slight point of view adjustment or zoom...someone was handling the camera. And both of you appear onscreen, together, so that rules you out."

Without waiting for a response, Alex glanced down at the yellow legal pad in front of her. "Now…we'll be getting Gold's witness list soon, so that'll give us even more idea of what he might have to work with. As for our witnesses, we'll be putting both of you on the stand, obviously. Is there anyone else who might be able to talk about Sean's stalking?"

"Angela," Brennan replied instantly, remembering the conversation with her and Hodgins the day after the arraignment. "She's the one who converted the tape, before I even knew what was on it. And she was with me when Booth arrested Sean at the diner."

"Angela…?"

"Montenegro. She's Bones' best friend. And she works with us," Booth supplied, his voice dull and mechanical.

"Okay, great. Now we could do with a flawless character witness or two…"

"Hodgins already offered," Booth reminded her.

"Dr. Jack Hodgins," Brennan told Alex. "Angela's husband, he works with us, too…I've worked him the longest of anyone at the lab."

"You could also ask Cam, she's great on the stand…Dr. Saroyan, she's head of forensics…"

Alex nodded, making notes as they talked. "Alright. I'm assuming the prosecution is going to want you to meet with a state psychiatrist for evaluation, so we'll want our own private one as well-"

"_No_," Brennan countered immediately, with such vehemence that Alex looked up, raising her eyebrows in question.

"Bones doesn't like psychology," Booth explained hastily. "She thinks it's a waste of time."

To his surprise, Alex smirked. "I'm a little inclined to agree with you in this case. The state psychiatrist will say what they need him to say, and ours will say what _we_ need them to say…they'll cancel each other out, essentially. But it's still considered procedure."

Booth could see from the frown on Brennan's face that she wasn't exactly looking forward to such procedure. He squeezed her hand. "What about Sweets, Bones? For our side…you talk to Sweets all the time."

"Sweets is…?"

"Dr. Sweets, he was our therapist for partners therapy, and he wrote a book…anyway, he's mainly just a team profiler now."

Alex was shaking her head slightly. "We may not want anyone you have any sort of personal relationship with…don't want to give Gold a reason to discredit him. We'll get someone else." Glancing at Brennan, Alex added, "I'm sure we can make it as painless as possible."

Brennan nodded, stoic. "Thank you."

Alex drew a long, cleansing breath, pulling her coat tighter around her. "Listen. I feel good about this case. We've got a good chance, and I honestly believe that." She swept a hand at the table, covered in papers and boxes and files. "I think this is enough to go over right now…I've got investigators pursuing some avenues, checking up on some of the prosecutions leads. When we get witness lists and more evidentiary hearings…we'll have even more to go on. But so far, I don't think there's anything too damaging here."

Brennan and Alex stood as Booth finished gathering the papers. "Thank you. I can appreciate your logic."

Alex grinned, shaking Brennan's hand. "Thanks. I'm getting the feeling that's a pretty high compliment from you?"

Booth glanced up. "Can we get copies of these documents?"

To his surprise, Alex smirked at him. "You're holding the copies. Believe it or not, I'm getting an idea of what it's like working with people in law enforcement. I figured you'd want your own. Though I'm going to have hold on to these." She lifted the box, repacked with everything Booth had brought, and then shook his hand, speaking to both of them as she promised, "I'll be in touch. Take care."

~(B*B)~

Booth was nearly silent the whole drive home, even as Brennan intently recited the facts from the forensic report and autopsy, explaining how neatly they corroborated her story, as well as a self defense ruling.

He never responded, but after awhile it seemed as though Brennan was repeating the scenario for herself as much as for him; she was methodical in talking through her statement, inserting bits of forensic evidence, as if anyone had ever considered the fact that she might be lying.

Of course they wouldn't. Because, as Booth had seen, there was plenty of reason for them to believe Brennan did it.

Brennan was so preoccupied with the new information that she didn't even seem regretful to step inside the apartment, to see the red light of the ankle monitor switch back on as the censors reactivated.

In spite of appearances, though, she wasn't too preoccupied to notice Booth's silence. Once they were inside, Brennan broke off mid season to frown at him, perplexed. "What's wrong? Do you understand what I'm saying, Booth? We have nothing to worry about."

Booth froze, staring at her, wild eyed. "Bones…" His voice was hoarse. "Bones, you didn't even glance at those police interviews. And did you even think about your criminal record, about what kind of stuff the prosecution will say?"

She blinked at him, expression maddeningly calm. "Well of course I have. It will hardly be pleasant, but you heard what Alex said-"

"Well of course she'd talk like that! Doesn't want us to think we aren't getting our money's worth!" Booth burst out, the volume of his voice surprising both of them. His chest was heaving, and his lungs felt small and constricted. He _had_ heard what Alex said, and on some level, he could understand…but fear was more powerful than logic, and it was swallowing him whole.

"I really think it will be fine," Brennan told him softly, and with that word, something inside Booth splintered.

"Fine! Fine fine _FINE_. I swear to God, Bones, I am _so_ sick of that word. According to you, _everything's_ fucking fine! House arrest is fine, your father and brother and the entire _world_ finding out everything that bastard did to you, that's _fine_. No big deal! The fact that you're going to trial at all, the fact that you could _go to jail_….to listen to you, none of that matters much at all. Neither does the fact that they _actually have a case against you Bones_. This is _not _a sure thing, but you ignore it. To you, it's all _FINE_."

Brennan's arms were folded, and she was actually drawing away from Booth, obviously thrown by his outburst. Still, her eyes went soft around the edges, her voice low and soothing, "Booth, it's not as bad as all that. You're just scared-"

"Damn right I'm scared!" Booth retorted, voice cracking, his eyes raw and pained. "I'm fucking _terrified_. I could _lose_ you, Bones, do you get that? Of _course_ I'm scared! _Why_ aren't you?"

Her voice faltering, Brennan stumbled over protests, "I…I don't-"

"You _have_ to be scared, Bones. I know you do." Booth was no longer yelling, but the anguish threaded through his tone cut Brennan more deeply than anger ever could. "And forget about that, even…it _has_ to be killing you that everyone knows. That your father, Russ, Hodgins and all those guys…not to mention thousands of total strangers. You didn't even want to tell _me_, Bones, much less…." His face twisted. "It _breaks_ my heart that it's being forced out of you like this. It's going to break my heart watching them make you go through it up on the stand, watch them try to _break _you…I know you're afraid of that, too."

Brennan lowered her gaze, tears spiking her eyelashes, unable to look at Booth, at the guilt and sorrow and God the _love_ in his gaze, without breaking down. Booth, though, came closer, bridging the distance she'd created, reaching out and holding her hand in both of his.

"Just like I know that you've got to be going out of your mind stuck here every day, kept away from work. But you won't _talk_ to me! You tell me your fine, but I can tell you're not, Bones, I know you're lying to me." He paused, letting that statement sink in, his stomach clenching as the truth of it registered. "You've been lying to me, Bones, and you don't do that. You _never_ do that."

"Booth…" Her voice broke around his name, and Brennan clenched her jaw, angry at herself. "I didn't want you to feel guilty…"

"Bones, I haven't _stopped_ feeling guilty since this whole thing started!"

"I know that!" Brennan burst out, losing her precious grasp on control for the first time as she pulled her hand away. "I know you have! You have a strong personal tendency toward guilt, Booth, and I didn't want to make that worse by seeming upset! I was trying to protect you!"

She dragged her eyes to meet his, gaze bright and defiant. For a moment, they were quiet, just staring at each other.

Then, his voice low, Booth spoke about the one thing they'd been avoiding since the immediate aftermath. "Kind of like you were trying to protect me by lying in the first place?"

For some reason, Booth's tone did not suggest he considered that a good thing. Still, Brennan instantly agreed, her voice fierce, "_Yes_. Exactly."

Booth's eyes flashed and hardened. "I never _asked_ you to do that, Bones! I never _wanted_ this! You say _I'm_ overprotective but _you_…God, you left me no choice, you just assumed your way was best-"

Tears were thickening Brennan's throat, but she managed to clench out, "It _is."_

A breathless, panicked laugh escaped Booth. "See? Even now you just… you…you ignore _anything_ that might prove you wrong! And you're making me watch you go through all this, knowing it should have been me, but there's _nothing I can do about it_. You won't even let me take care of you because you won't tell me the truth about anything being wrong, even though I _know_ how much this is hurting you, and _that is breaking me apart_, Bones." His voice broke, and Booth pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, swallowing against the constriction in his throat.

When Booth spoke again, his voice was little more than a ragged whisper. "I love you so damn much, Bones. And nothing kills me more than watching people hurt you, than watching you hurt…especially when you won't let me be there for you."

Tears were coursing steadily down Brennan's cheeks, and she moved toward him instinctually, but Booth took a step back, his eyes boring into hers as he bit out softly, "So _don't_ think you did me any favors."

Brennan froze; she looked away, shuffling away from him. And then Booth did what she couldn't.

He turned and walked out the apartment, closing the door softly behind him.

_A/N: Phew. Okay. That was such a relief to finish and post. I'd love to hear from you and find out what you think. _

_I can't promise biweekly updates or anything…I'm working a lot, and I'll be in and out of town for the next few weeks (always with my computer, always with some time to write, but internet will be inconsistent at some points) Plus, I am still trying to finish some original scripts in preparation for internship interviews in the coming semester.  
_

_But. I am really excited about this fic again, and the show again, and since we just found out the premiere's being delayed…I'll have to work through the agonizing wait somehow. Also, I should say, in the next few days (when and if I can get internet) you may see me post a BB oneshot that was basically an experiment/challenge that grew out of a discussion with a friend and I wrote it months ago. So don't think I'm neglecting Truth to write what is, I can assure, a super random oneshot. It does slightly involve the Sean Lowell backstory though...a method of getting myself thinking about 'Truth' again, kind of.  
_

_Again, thanks so much reading and coming back. You guys are the best. Special thank you to all my tumblr people who read and have asked about the fic (I'm doctor-brennan on Tumblr, so if you have one, add me and say hi!). And to anyone who's messaged me..I'll get back to you, but I didn't want to say anything when I was working on this because I wasn't sure when I would be posting. _


	8. Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own

_Author's Note:_ _Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading last chapter. I really appreciate you guys sticking with me after the long break. Hopefully this wait was a lot easier. I'm really excited about all the upcoming chapters, and am picking up the pace a lot coming up. _

_Anyway, hope you enjoy. Song is by U2._

Chapter Seven

_Tough, you think you've got the stuff  
You're telling me and anyone  
You're hard enough_

_You don't have to put up a fight_  
_You don't have to always be right_  
_Let me take some of the punches_  
_For you tonight_

_Listen to me now_  
_I need to let you know_  
_You don't have to go it alone_

He just wanted it to be over.

Booth pressed his foot a little harder on the accelerator, tires eating up the highway stretched in front of him, as if he could outrun the mess of his life.

It was dark by now; hours and hours had passed since he'd left the apartment, fury and fear chasing him away.

It had felt good, to finally say everything he was feeling. Most days, that apartment felt suffocating, thick with everything they weren't saying, with all the pretending, so much so that Booth sometimes couldn't breathe.

Maybe he was a coward: finally being honest and immediately walking out, knowing Brennan couldn't follow. But a part of him was afraid she would argue back, simply contradicting everything he said and insisting, yet again, that everything was _fine_.

He couldn't take that anymore. Booth hadn't realized it fully until he'd spoken it aloud, but in all her pretending, Brennan had shut him out. For all the physical closeness of the last few weeks, confined in the apartment, there was a distance between them that hadn't been there in years.

Booth was already struggling to keep it together, between the guilt over what he had done, the stress of the lies he had no choice but to tell, and the fear of what was coming.

He couldn't lose her in the midst of all that.

So Booth drove. He drove until his anger had abated slightly, until his panic over the discovery was less consuming. He drove until he could breathe again.

Booth didn't want to go back; it wasn't that he didn't want to see Brennan. If anything, he was feeling increasingly guilty about yelling at her and then storming out.

What he wanted really, was for her to be beside him. It was a childish notion, but Booth wanted to take her and run, to just disappear and leave the murder and the trial and everything surrounding it behind them.

Of course, that was impossible. He was stuck in it, had been from the second he'd pulled the trigger and Brennan had made the false confession. The most devastating thing about this had always been his helplessness, his lack of control.

And it was this, more than anything, that kept him driving just a little while longer, pretending he was actually going somewhere, that he could actually get away from everything he'd done.

~(B*B)~

While Booth was aimlessly driving highways, Brennan curled up on the couch, asleep and surrounded by wreckage.

It had started with their copy of the discovery documents. Moments after Booth had left, slamming the door behind him, Brennan had gone, once again, for autopsy report, needing to distract herself from the tears stabbing persistently at her eyes.

Her hands trembled as she sorted through the papers, pulling the forensic reports, her eyes roving over the now familiar words, but the sense of relief they'd brought earlier did not come.

Frustrated, Brennan let go of the papers, watching as they fluttered the floor. Her eyes landed on the stack of other documents, the ones that had apparently sent Booth over the edge.

Something tightened in her chest, the heat of anger crawling the length of her spine.

Booth didn't understand. And he wasn't being fair.

Brennan admitting that house arrest was wearing on her, that she hated the thought of her history with Sean Lowell going public, that she was terrified of getting on the stand and talking about it….telling Booth all of that wouldn't change any of it. There was no benefit. Whereas keeping things positive, putting on a brave face whenever possible…that had an obvious advantage. It protected Booth from still more guilt. Put that way, her actions were the only rational choice.

Except. She couldn't ignore the flaw in the logic; Booth had made it abundantly obvious tonight.

If he saw through her act, it wasn't sparing him any guilt. Apparently, it only made Booth feel as though she was shutting him out.

Brennan closed her eyes, shame and irritation battling for dominance now. She hated that she'd made him feel like that; but surely Booth understood her intentions?

She was doing it for him. Booth had killed Sean Lowell for her, and everything Brennan had done since that moment had been to protect _him_. Yet somehow he faulted her for it.

_So don't think you did me any favors._

Brennan hadn't expected that, the last words Booth hurled before leaving the apartment. There had been such genuine fury, such conviction in his voice.

She stared at the door, suddenly overcome with a panicked, desperate need to go after Booth, to maybe do her own yelling, and, most of all, to assure that he wasn't going to stay this angry at her.

But, of course, she couldn't leave. She couldn't go after him.

And Booth had known that.

For a long moment, Brennan stared at the door. Then, slowly, a strangled sound of pure frustration pulled itself from her throat from some deep, hidden place that was a long time coming free.

It wasn't rational, the way the apartment suddenly felt like it was closing in on her, the sudden, gripping need to be away from these walls, these same fucking walls she'd been staring at day after day. But Brennan had spent weeks rationalizing every feeling, suppressing and hiding every issue, and all at once, whatever place she'd been burying her frustration seemed to burst.

She grabbed the packet of police interviews that had worried Booth so much and threw them across the living room, the white papers scattering. She grabbed her foster file, the folder containing chronicling the worst three years of her life and threw it haphazardly in the direction of the kitchen, everything scattering.

With a grim, detached satisfaction, Brennan observed that this mess offered a break in the relentless monotony of the location. It was, if nothing else, something different to look at.

Brennan continued to dismantle the carefully organized documents of the discovery, barely aware of the angry, desperate yells occasionally clawing their way of her throat as she destroyed.

She was sick of the sight of this place. She had always loved Booth's apartment, always felt at home there, but now it had become her cage. A prison, no matter what shape and size, no matter how familiar, was still a prison.

The comfort, the sense of ease she used to associate with Booth's place…that had been stripped away.

So she raged against the apartment, unable to seize so much as a thread of rational thought. Papers littered the floor, and when she ran out of documents, Brennan overturned chairs, upended a coffee table, slung aside books she had stacked on various surfaces. She dropped the dishes stacked in the sink to the kitchen floor, watching them shatter to pieces.

And then she was crying, bent over the kitchen sink, hot tears slipping steadily down her cheek, a pile of broken glass at her feet.

Brennan suddenly felt very, very tired.

Stepping gingerly over the shards, Brennan moved out of the kitchen and into the living room. Turning off the light, not wanting to look at the evidence of her ridiculous annihilation, Brennan curled onto the couch to wait for Booth.

~(B*B)~

When Booth entered the apartment, hours after he'd left, he found himself squinting through darkness at what resembled the scene of a crime.

For a moment, Booth merely gaped at the scene in front of him. The discovery had been ripped apart and, from the looks of it, hurled at random around the apartment. Furniture had been overturned; books and picture frames littered the floor.

Then, his eyes fell on Brennan, ad Booth's heart hitched in his chest.

She was curled under a blanket on the couch, asleep. As Booth got closer, he could see the slight puffiness beneath her eyes, like she'd fallen asleep crying.

Gently, Booth eased himself onto the edge of the couch. For a moment, he sat in silence, catching an errant strand of Brennan's hair between two fingers and worrying it absently. Finally, though, he leaned down and gently kissed her awake.

Her face scrunching up in surprise, Brennan blinked blearily up at him. "You came back," she said softly, her voice scratchy with sleep.

There was just enough relief and surprise threading through her tone to make shame ripple through Booth.

"_Bones_." He threaded his fingers through her hair. "Of course. I just needed…I needed to clear my head for awhile."

Brennan lowered her eyes, one hand fisting Booth's shirt as she murmured, "You can't do that again. You can't walk out when I don't have the option of following you."

He nodded. "That's fair. I'm sorry."

For a moment they looked at each other. Booth's eyes were soft around the edges, a tired, bruised brown. He hadn't commented on the mess of the apartment, and she loved him for that.

In a small voice, Brennan tentatively offered, "I…I am scared." Her voice caught on the admission. "Of the trial and, and everything I just…I didn't want you to worry."

"I'm gonna worry, Bones. No matter what," Booth told her honestly. "It only makes it worse if you're shutting me out."

The phrase made her wince. Brennan gazed up at him, her eyes wide and earnest. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know, Bones," Booth replied softly. "But you gotta understand…what I hate, more than anything, is being helpless. And I can't…there's not much I can do about what you're going through. I can't stop the trial, I can't stop house arrest. The _one_ thing I can do is try to be there for you. But you have to _let_ me."

Brennan's eyes slowly filled with a fresh wave of tears; she said nothing. Booth managed a small, tired smile, disentangling his hands from her hair and gently tracing his thumb the length of her cheekbone. "You're going through this because of _me_, Bones. At least let me help you."

"You do help me, Booth," Brennan told him, her heart in her eyes. "You, just being here…that helps."

"Well, I'm glad…but, Bones…I don't want you to have pretend with me. I want to…I want to listen when you're scared, I want to be the one to tell you it's going to be okay…" Booth reached out with his free hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing. "I need us to be in this _together_…as much as we can." Booth lifted their joined hands, brushing his lips against her fingers. "You get that?"

Her throat too tight to speak for a moment, Brennan simply nodded vehemently. Finally, she managed to whisper, "Yes. Okay."

"Good." His answer fell on Brennan's lips, and in the next second Booth covered them with his own, the kiss an apology and a forgiveness, all at once.

Brennan's fist tightened around Booth's shirt, pulling him closer. He leaned over Brennan on the couch, deepening the kiss. Brennan's arms twined around Booth, tightening her grip.

After several moments, Brennan drew back slightly, meeting his eyes, suddenly a shade darker with desire. "Booth? Thank you."

Booth didn't ask what she meant. He only tipped his forehead against hers and said roughly, "God, do you know how much I love you?" His lips recaptured hers, swallowing her answer, and then he said softy, "Come to bed with me, Bones."

Swinging his legs off the couch, Booth stood with Brennan in his arms, her legs wound around him, fingers stroking the back of his neck.

In the brief time it took to get to their bedroom, Brennan leaned forward, burying her face against his neck. She could feel the quick tattoo of his heartbeat against hers, the strong, secure grip of his hands against her skin. Brennan closed her eyes, breathing him in, and let Booth carry her away.

~(B*B)~

"What if I can't do it?"

Booth opened his eyes, the hesitant, fragile tone of Brennan's voice shooting straight to his heart.

He'd had his arm wrapped around her, Brennan's back against his chest, but now she rolled over to face him, their faces close on the same pillow.

"What if you can't do what, Bones?"

"During the cross examination, you've said…the prosecution will ask me about what Sean did. In specific detail, I imagine." Her face tightened. "What if I can't answer their questions?" When Booth didn't immediately answer, couldn't, Brennan added, "There have been times in the past…when the state forced me into therapy, or with Angela or you when I've…I've intended to talk about it and I just…I can't seem to." She flushed slightly. "Which I know sounds improbable, but that's…how it feels. As though something is stopping me." Brennan lifted her eyes, stripped with fear, to meet his. "What if that occurs on the stand?"

Booth's chest was tight, his throat so narrow that he couldn't have forced a word out even if he'd been able to think of something to say. Under the sheets, his hand founds hers and he fit them together, a poor substitute for an answer.

After a beat, though, Brennan answered herself, "Obviously, I'll _have_ to answer their questions. It's court procedure. And if I can't it might seem like I was…hiding something."

"I'm sorry," Booth managed, a reflex.

Instantly, Brennan's expression changed. "It isn't your fault."

Booth winced at how quickly he'd sent Brennan back into guarded, protective mode. Asking her to open up to him wouldn't work if he merely got caught up in his own guilt.

Pulling himself together and fixing Brennan with an intent stare, Booth spoke in a low, deliberate voice, "When they ask you questions…you just look at me. The prosecutor, the judge, anyone else in that courtroom…pretend they aren't there, and just tell me."

"That's absurd, Booth…the courtroom will likely be full."

His mouth twitched, just slightly. "That's why I said _pretend_, Bones." Giving her hand a squeeze, Booth continued, "Forget about them, and keep your eyes on me. The whole time. And know that nothing you could say could _ever_ change anything with us."

For a long, quiet moment, Brennan held his gaze, her expression contemplative. Finally, she nodded. "Alright."

Half smiling at her, Booth shifted slightly, and Brennan curled against him.

Some knot of tension had unfurled in her chest; she did in fact feel slightly better from voicing the insecurity, and hearing Booth's suggestion.

But Brennan hadn't missed the look on Booth's face when she'd started talking.

He claimed he was constantly feeling guilty, and therefore there was no benefit in shielding him from anything that might exacerbate that. Yet there no denying, from the pained, guilt ridden expression on Booth's face, that the emotion was definitely more raw when Brennan opened up.

It was what Booth wanted, she reminded herself. But there was a flaw in his logic, and somehow, she still felt like she was only hurting him.

~(B*B)~

In her line of work, Alex Bennett was rarely taken by surprise.

Today, however, had proved a rare exception. She had not been expecting a married couple who worked together at a forensics lab to live in what was, undeniably, a mansion.

Still, Alex took it in stride as Angela Montenegro opened the door, introducing herself and then her husband, who had their daughter on his lap in the living room.

"So," Hodgins said once Alex had taken a seat. His eyes were glinting with purpose, ready to be given his task. "How can we help?

"Well, that's what I'm hoping to figure out today," Alex told them. "Dr. Brennan mentioned both of you as potential witnesses…and if there's something you can tell me that can help her case, I'll put you on the stand."

Hodgins and Angela exchanged looks, and then Angela began, her voice fierce. "I'll say whatever you need me to say about her. You need character witnesses, right?"

"We will, yes, but Brennan mentioned _you_ would be helpful in confirming the incidents of Sean's stalking in the weeks leading up to his death?" There was a question in Alex's voice, an invitation for Angela to go on.

Hodgins shifted Ally in his lap, freeing one hand, which he slipped easily into his wife's, squeezing reassuringly as Angela began to speak. "Brennan brought me a video tape one day, after her lunch break. A mini DV tape, that goes in certain kinds of video cameras. She wanted me to convert it."

"Meaning?"

"Oh, um…just get it on a more easily viewed file…we have machines for that, it involves running it through the converter and…the video plays out onscreen while it converts, so I saw what was on it. I saw it before Brennan did, even."

"This was the first surveillance tape?"

"Yes."

Alex nodded, making a note on the legal pad balanced on her knees. "Alright, so in court, I'll ask you to describe what was on the tape."

"It was Bren," Angela's voice faltered slightly, and she glanced at Hodgins. "There were all these, surveillance shots, from like…across streets. Her going into work, leaving the apartment, going to the diner…by herself, with Booth, or Booth and Parker…a few times with me." Angela paused. "There were date and time stamps, in the corner of all the shots….they were all over the week or so before, but the last shot was from that morning, of Brennan going into the lab."

"And did Dr. Brennan tell you she suspected Sean?"

"Yes. I knew about him, and…what he did to her. I knew he'd kept sending her letters from prison. After I showed her what was on the tape, she told me that he'd been released."

For the next five minutes, Alex talked to Angela about the surveillance tape, and then about what she'd seen outside the diner when Booth arrested Sean.

When they'd finished, Alex turned to Hodgins. "Now, I've been told you would be a potential character witness?"

Hodgins nodded. "I can definitely do that."

Alex leaned forward, her pen poised above her notepad. "What's the most important thing you think you can tell me about Dr. Brennan? Based on helping her case."

For a moment, Hodgins was quiet, considering the question. "I guess that…Dr. B's all about the truth. And justice. That's our whole job, and she believes in it more than anybody. Always has. The idea that she would try to cheat the system and then lie about it….it's just impossible. If she killed him, it's because she didn't have any other choice."

"Okay," Alex said, her voice quiet. "That's good." As the lawyer made a few more notes on her legal pad, Angela squeezed her husband's hand, smiling at him. Then Alex continued, "We can go over your testimony in more specific detail when we get closer…you'll know every question I'm going to ask, and we can probably figure out what the prosecutor will say on the cross examination as well. Now, one more thing….Dr. Hodgins, did you have any sort of contact with Sean Lowell, or see any evidence of what he was doing, before Dr. Brennan was arrested?"

Automatically, Hodgins shook his head. "No." Abruptly, his eyes widened. "Oh! Wait, actually….I did see Sean once. And I talked to him. But I didn't know who he was."

Alex arched an eyebrow. "Go on."

"He was in the diner, a few seats away from me and Sweets, and Sweets saw he was reading one of Brennan's novels. He started talking to us, just said he was a huge fan." Hodgins paused, then added, "Sweets told him we worked with her and he also said that Dr. B came into the diner a lot."

"This is the same diner that he was standing outside when Agent Booth arrested him?"

"Yeah."

"That's great," Alex told him. "I'll ask you about that as well…shows that he knew he might see Dr. Brennan there. Even the fact that he was reading her book, claiming to be a huge fan…shows his fixation. That's good."

In Hodgins' lap, Allegra started to squirm and whimper. With an apologetic smile, he stood. "I'll be right back."

When her husband was out of the room, Angela knotted her hands together, hesitating. After a few moments of silence, she met Alex's gaze and asked, "Brennan's case. It's…it's strong, right? I mean she won't…she's going to be acquitted, right?"

"I feel good about our chances, yes," Alex replied seriously. "We have a good case."

"She _cannot_ go to jail." There was a force in Angela's voice that surprised her. "He's taken enough from her. This trial, all this publicity, it's…it's bad enough. She _can't_ lose."

Alex studied Angela for a long moment. Then, her eyes softening, she tucked her legal pad into her briefcase and leaned forward. "I'll tell you what I've told Agent Booth, many times. This is a messy case, and proof is going to be difficult. That's good for us, because the prosecution has the burden of proof. Self defense is usually a tricky sell, but the fact that Sean Lowell broke a restraining order _and_ his parole conditions to go see her bodes well. He hit her; the threat was obvious. So what the prosecution has to do is prove, without a doubt, that Dr. Brennan didn't _have_ to kill him. And that's tough to prove either way; it's pretty subjective. And at the end of the day, when cases are all about the shades of grey…it's going to come down to the jury. And juries don't want to convict someone like Dr. Brennan, someone who spends her life putting criminals in jail, for killing her rapist."

Slowly, Angela nodded, processing this. "Okay," she breathed finally. "Good."

~(B*B)~

"Alright, Dr. Brennan. We'll try to make this as painless as possible."

Brennan said nothing, keeping her face impassive. She doubted that.

She was sitting stiffly on the couch in Dr. Robert Adler's office. Usually, the temporary reprieve from house arrest this meeting allowed would have been enough to make anything pleasant. But she'd spent days dreading this meeting with the state psychiatrist, a solemn, stern looking man who would, in all likelihood, testify in court that she had been so thoroughly traumatized by Sean Lowell that she'd been moved toward revenge.

Brennan found psychiatry useless at the best of times, but its use in the court always seemed particularly baffling. The prosecutor would plan the state psychiatrist's testimony in such a way that it supported their argument; the private psychiatrist Alex hired, meanwhile, would testify in a way that supported the defense's side. It seemed that it would save time to simply eliminate both testimonies.

Yet, as Alex had said, it was protocol. And so Brennan sat, her hands folded in front of her, nails digging half moons into her knuckles.

"I've got a questionnaire to fill out for the court," Dr. Adler informed her. "We'll start with that before we get into the session." The older man scanned the paper in front of him, reciting in a bored, monotonous voice, "Did you take any medications before you came in today?"

"No."

"Have you ever been charged with a crime before?"

"Yes." At his raised eyebrow, Brennan added, "Two assault charges and one for shooting a man in the leg…I was never convicted."

"Have you ever been to court before?"

Brennan rolled her eyes, suppressing a sigh. Presumably, this man had enough information to realize that, of course, she had been to court. This formality was ridiculous. "Yes, I've testified numerous times as an expert witness in forensics."

The next several questions were along that same vein, confirming that she understood the role of the judge, the prosecutor, the defense attorney, the various aspects of attorney/client privilege.

Adler's voice never changed its inflection, his expression giving no indication of recognizing her impatience. Finally, he put down the form and, straight faced, told her, "I think we can move on."

Brennan set her jaw tightly. The form questions had been ridiculously simple, unnecessary…but at least they weren't distressing.

"Have you ever been diagnosed with a psychiatric illness?"

"No," Brennan replied, relaxing slightly. Simple yeses and no's she could handle.

"Have you ever been on any medication for psychiatric purposes?"

"No."

"Have you ever owned a gun before?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever been to counseling of any kind?"

"Yes, my partner and I underwent mandatory evaluation with an FBI psychologist." After a beat, Brennan added hesitantly, "And I attended mandatory counseling sessions as a teenager, at the insistence of my social worker. After Sean Lowell went to prison."

Still, Adler's expression did not change. "Tell me about the circumstances that led to Sean Lowell's prison sentence."

Just like that, her stomach clenched. Brennan's lips curled together. Alex had warned her that this would be the bulk of the interview, and mentally Brennan recited the advice her lawyer had given her.

_The most important thing you can do is stay calm. Don't let him push you, don't get angry when you talk about what happened back then. Just stick to the facts._

Facts. Brennan could do that.

"I lived with Sean and his wife for eight months," Brennan began, her voice as clinical as if she were on the forensic platform, reciting her findings. "He began raping me about three weeks into that stay. He would do it a few nights a week. He also got physically violent, and occasionally kept me out of school. After eight months, he kept me out for over two weeks. The school got in touch with my social worker, and she called the police when she didn't get an answer on the phone. They walked in on evidence on what Sean had been doing and he was arrested."

Brennan forced herself to hold Dr. Adler's gaze; she tightened her hands' grip on each other, hoping to disguise the trembling.

"That must have been very difficult," the man finally commented neutrally.

"Yes," Brennan acknowledged carefully. "But it was a long time ago."

"What was Sean Lowell's attitude toward you like? As he did these things?"

"He was very heavily fixated," Brennan replied. "He always claimed that he didn't want to hurt me, that everything he did was because he loved me. He didn't like me being away from the house for too long, even for school."

"And how did you feel toward him?"

Brennan's throat was dry. She knew, objectively, this was nothing compared to what it would be like in court, when it was the prosecutor…and yet she couldn't help but read into every question, imagine what he was trying to get to her to say, how they might spin it to use against her.

"I was afraid of him," she said finally, and honestly. "I never told anyone because…he made threats. He said he'd kill me if I told and…I was sixteen years old. I believed him."

"You must have been happy when he got convicted."

"I was…relieved," Brennan said carefully. "Because he couldn't hurt me anymore."

Dr. Adler nodded curtly. His demeanor made him seem unaffected and even uninterested in the information Brennan was providing, and yet Brennan felt sick, weak and exposed in his presence.

She imagined, suddenly, doing this in a courtroom, with everyone she knew and dozens of strangers looking on. With the prosecutor asking for more details, making her talk until she broke, until her trauma was obvious.

Suddenly, Brennan's stomach rolled unpleasantly. Her face ashen, she stammered, "Could I…could you excuse me for a moment? Restroom."

"Just down the hall."

She was out the door in seconds, hurrying down the hall and into the bathroom just in time to crouch down and empty the contents of her stomach.

~(B*B)~

Booth had been back in the parking lot for over fifteen minutes when Brennan opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.

"Hey…" He sat up, instantly scrutinizing her expression. "How was it?"

"It was alright," Brennan said evenly.

Booth arched an eyebrow. "_Really_ alright?"

"Really."

For the past two weeks, Brennan had been making an effort to do what Booth claimed he wanted. When prompted, she admitted to how she was feeling, whether it was restless and bored from being the apartment, or anxious about the upcoming psychiatrist evaluations or even the trial itself.

It was a slight relief, no longer forcing herself to pretend, but Brennan was still careful. She never volunteered insecurities, only admitting them when Booth asked. And she had learned how to carefully end the conversation when the guilt stricken, anguished look in Booth's eyes became too much.

Still, she had not lied to him since the night of their fight, and things were easier between them now that they weren't holding back. Still, the reclaimed openness had provoked its share of arguing, too.

These fights were nothing much, a version of the bickering and debates that were common in their relationship…but the tension of house arrest, along with the constant cloud of worry hanging over them, made the arguments sharper, more pronounced.

Sometimes they argued over nothing, typical domestic disputes over food or dishes or laundry. More often, their arguments were due to circumstance. Brennan fought with Booth over his reluctance to take Parker anywhere during his weekends with them (Booth didn't want to leave Brennan out, she insisted Parker was going crazy cooped up indoors and she should know), Booth fought with her over her continued disinterest in certain documents of the discovery.

Still, Booth kept his promise, and he never once walked out in the middle of a fight.

In spite of the tension fueled arguments, the last few weeks of house arrest had been considerably better than the first. They officially passed the halfway point between the arraignment and the trial, and less than a month remained before the trial would begin.

Now, Booth reached across the SUV's console and took Brennan's hand, waiting for more.

"I think I did alright," she said slowly. "It was…unpleasant, talking to him about what Sean did back then, and I admit it makes me a little anxious about doing so in the trial setting, which I'm sure will be worse, but…I did what Alex said. Simple facts. And once he moved on, it was fine."

Luckily, Dr. Adler had moved on in his line of questioning as soon as Brennan had returned from the bathroom. He'd asked about Sean's letters from prison, how she'd felt when she learned he was released, and many questions about her state of mind the day Sean had been killed.

"Good," Booth said, squeezing her hand. "So…better or worse than you thought?"

Brennan considered the question carefully, wanting to give an honest answer. Finally, her voice tentative, she admitted, "Better."

"See, that's great! And the shrink Alex gets will be even easier, because you know she's on your side."

Brennan made a face. "She'll still be a _psychiatrist_."

He couldn't help but grin a little at the distaste in her voice. "True, but more like Sweets. Totally harmless." Suddenly, Booth's grin widened, and he slung his door open. "Bones, get out."

"What?" Her eyes went wide. "Booth, we have to go back, I can only be out of the apartment for a certain amount of time."

"I know," he said, standing outside now, though the SUV was still cranked. "I'm going to let you drive."

At those words, Brennan tried and failed to suppress a smile. "You never let me drive."

"Yeah, well." Booth shrugged, smiling. "Offer's about to expire, Bones."

She got out of the car, and came around to his side. Booth winked. "Take the long way home."

~(B*B)~

"You want the good news or bad news?"

"The good news," Brennan answered instantly.

Alex blinked at her, surprised. "Oh. Most people say the bad news first…to get it over with." Brennan just looked at her blankly, and finally Alex continued, "Actually, the good news is meaningless without the bad news so I'll just…start there anyway."

"Then why did you ask?" Brennan asked, genuinely curious. Alex caught Booth smirking at her.

"That was my fault," she said finally. "Anyway. The bad news is that Chris Gold's trying to submit your father's murder trial into evidence."

Booth's eyes hardened instantly, all trace of amusement gone. "_What_?"

The color leaving her face, Brennan stared at Alex, incredulous. "How is that relevant?"

"Legally speaking, Deputy Director Kirby's murder is still unsolved. I'm still going over the transcript, but from what I'm gathering, there was some…speculation that you were a probable suspect."

"She was never charged," Booth bit out instantly, just as Brennan turned to him with a panicked expression. "Because it was _ridiculous_-

Alex held up a hand, her expression calm. "Which brings me to the good news. I've already filed a motion to suppress, and I think there's a good chance it'll go through. He really has no grounds to use that against you, and if he tries to make the argument that your father's criminal history is relevant…well, that's unfair bias."

Booth exhaled slowly, unconvinced. "But if it goes through…"

"If it goes through, it's still very, very thin evidence. Which is why, in all likelihood, Judge Hayes will suppress it." A corner of Alex's lips quirked up. "My motions are famously well written. We'll be fine."

"When will we know?" Brennan asked.

"In the next day or two, hopefully." Alex studied their faces, then added, "Look, this isn't a big deal. I just wanted to keep you both informed."

The three of them were sitting at the picnic table outside Alex's office building, their usual place for meeting. The trial was three weeks away.

"Now," Alex said crisply, her eyes scanning her notes. "I've got reports from the state shrink and from Dr. Kelsey," she told them, referring to the private psychiatrist Brennan had spoken to a few days prior. I think we're in good shape there. I've been over testimony with Angela Montenegro and Jack Hodgins, and I think they'll be very helpful. Of course, you two are the crux of the case."

Brennan looked up, surprised. "We are?"

"Of course." Alex smiled a little. "You two put away murderers for a living. I'm going to sit you both up there and have you go through everything that happened after Sean Lowell got out of prison, all the steps you took in the investigation." She looked at Booth, then Brennan. "It's sympathetic, and it's relatable. _You_ tried to protect her, _you_ were terrified but desperate to protect yourself this time. Anyone in your position would have done exactly what the two of you did, and that's what we need. The jury will see that. And they'll understand, then, that they would have pulled the trigger, too."

They were quiet for a moment, letting this sink in. Then, her voice again brisk and purposeful, Alex continued, "I'm meeting with Christina Shaw tomorrow….Sean Lowell's lawyer. She's a witness for the state, same as his parole officer, but I think she'll be willing to talk to me."

Booth glanced up. "What about that Holly woman? The one who claims to have been dating him?"

Alex shrugged dismissively. "I told you, don't worry too much about her. She's not credible. She's on Gold's witness list, but that doesn't mean he'll call her. Her statement has too many contradictions."

For the next hour and a half, Alex went over the specifics of Booth and Brennan's testimony, assuring them that they'd rehearse again closer to the trial.

When they were finished, Booth helped gather up the documents to return them to Alex's office. Usually, she protested, but today the lawyer let him pick up the box of folders and move ahead of her and Brennan to the office.

"Dr. Brennan…." Alex started in an undertone. "Are you feeling okay? You're…eating alright? Sleeping?"

Unconsciously, Alex's eyes swept Brennan. She'd been on house arrest for over a month, and she'd lost weight steadily, a noticeable amount. Her skin was paler than usual, and dark half moons beneath her eyes suggested deep exhaustion.

Brennan flushed slightly, fully aware of the observations that led Alex to ask. Still, all she said was, "I'm fine."

Alex opened her mouth, starting to push it, but something told her that wouldn't work on someone like Temperance Brennan. "Okay. Just checking."

~(B*B)~

Christopher Gold was damn good at his job.

He became a prosecutor for the usual reasons; he wanted to put bad men in jail. He liked the way it sounded, liked that he would be using his law degree to be an agent of justice, a person who took killers and rapists off the streets and made sure they got what they deserved.

But all that was idealism, beliefs he'd had before he'd realized that, in reality, a prosecutor would plead out twice as many cases as they took to trial. Before he'd stood before a judge with the intention of sending a twenty-five year old single mother to jail for shoplifting baby formula and diapers because the father, earning a respectable living, was refusing to pay his child support. Before he'd realized it wasn't always black and white.

Some cases were messy. Chris wasn't always the white knight he'd imagined himself to be in law school.

Still. He was damn good at his job, not matter what the case.

But there were some cases that gave him a special satisfaction. The cold blooded murders, the uncaring rapes…those were the cases where Chris really savored the win, when he knew he was doing something good.

His current case had its own sort of special satisfaction, but it had nothing to do with his ability to feel like a white knight. Sean Lowell was the worst kind of victim for that; the kind that even Chris couldn't help but acknowledging, silently, that he deserved what had come to him.

But this case…it was the kind of case lawyers waited for, but only few snagged: a case that captured national attention.

Dr. Brennan's celebrity, as it were, had guaranteed national media attention, and the nature of the case meant people would stay hooked. There was the tragic back story, the murky black and white morality issues, the risk of a self-defense plea…America loved a good murder trial. And America would be watching.

Which meant they'd be watching Chris.

He wasn't an idiot; he knew that, in some incarnations of the story, he would be spun as the villain. After all, Dr. Brennan _was_ Good, unequivocally. She identified bodies of the dead and put away murderers, was the most successful forensic anthropologist in the country; and now the entire world knew she'd overcome a background as a foster child and underage rape victim to become what she had.

But in his most published sound bite after the arraignment, Chris had seized on what, exactly, made her Wrong. She had been taking justice into her own hands. His opening argument, he already knew, would begin with this assertion. There was no questioning that Sean Lowell had been a Bad Man. But he'd served his time; paid his debt to society, and yet Dr. Brennan had decided it wasn't satisfactory. She had decided she had known better than the justice system, the bedrock of their civilized society, and she had taken matters into her own hands.

Put that way, Chris allowed himself the satisfaction of fighting to put her in jail. His career was hitting a high point; he didn't need to play the purely white knight this time. This case wasn't that simple.

But he would still do a damn good job at it. And everyone would be watching as he did.

"What have you got for me?"

The state didn't have the budget for fancy private investigators (something defense attorneys used at their leisure), but there were assistant DAs, two of whom had been pulled from their usual work to be his lackeys due to the importance of the case.

Jamie and Kyle stood before him now, exchanging glances. By some unspoken agreement, Kyle went first, passing Chris an envelope. "The judge approved Bennett's motion…the father's case is off limits."

Chris took this news in stride. "Well, we knew it was a long shot." He nodded at Jamie. "Anything else?"

The girl nodded, shifting whatever she had under her arm before speaking, "You know Dr. Brennan was treated by an FBI psychologist?"

"Yeah…Dr. Sweets, right? It was mandatory partners counseling after her father was arrested. The shrink, though, he works on their team now, as a profiler…doubt he'll be of any help to us. Besides, we subpoena the counseling records then the defense gets a copy, too, and for all we know he wrote that there were no lasting effects from any trauma she suffered blah blah blah."

Jamie lifted an eyebrow, holding a book toward him. "Don't be so sure. Dr. Sweets wrote this, about Dr. Brennan and her partner…no subpoena necessary."

Curious, Chris took the volume from her, opening it to the marked page, reading the paragraphs Jamie had highlighted with interest. "It's good," he murmured after a moment. "Very interesting." He lifted his gaze. "You think it's worth the risk, though? He's a friend of hers, we have no idea what else he might say. _This_ is good," Chris tapped the book for emphasis. "But it's nothing we can't get out the state psychiatrist."

"It'll have more pull coming from a friend," Jamie countered. "And he won't be able to deny it, not once you read that out. But that's not even the best part. Dr. Sweets was a witness in Dr. Brennan's father's murder trial, for the prosecution."

"So?" Kyle put in, slightly sulky that Jamie had found something he hadn't. "They all were, even the boyfriend."

Jamie held out her copy of the Max Keenan trial transcript, flipped to a page in the middle. "Read this."

"We can't use that," Chris reminded her. "Judge suppressed it."

"He suppressed the trial as evidence against Dr. Brennan. But we can read it out to jog the memory of witness if, say, he lies on the stand."

Intrigued, Chris read the line Jamie was pointing to. Slowly, a smile unfurled. "Subpoena the records," he said. "Actually, go ahead and subpoena the kid, too. He's taking the stand."

~(B*B)~

"Alex?"

Alex glanced up and immediately stood, offering her hand to shake. "Christina, hi. Thanks for meeting with me."

"No problem, come on in."

Alex followed the other lawyer into her office.

"So I guess you know I'm on witness list for the state." Christina smirked. "Not many defense attorneys get to say that."

Smiling appreciatively, Alex countered, "I guess I'm counting on you having some loyalty anyway." She raised an eyebrow. "What can you tell me about Sean Lowell that might be helpful?"

Christina was quiet for a moment, considering. "Well, it's not so helpful to you, but what I told the police was accurate. That arrest Agent Booth made? Desperate act. He had no grounds, and he knew it." She paused, then added carefully, "But I can also tell you that Sean Lowell was obsessed with that girl when she was a kid, and that it never went away."

Alex kept her expression blank, but inwardly, triumph flared. This sounded promising.

"You know how everyone has that one case, early on?" Christina continued after a moment, her tone low and serious. "The one that makes you question everything about this job, that drives you crazy wondering why you're on the side of the criminals. The one that you can't help but be relieved not to win."

Alex nodded slightly; she'd had a case like that, too, though she'd won hers: an acquittal for a rapist that made her sick to her stomach for months afterward.

"Well, Sean Lowell's case was mine," Christina stated. "It was my first solo felony…I was working at a private practice, fresh out of law school, and everyone made a big deal about me being ready to handle it. But honestly, no one else wanted to touch that case. We had _nothing_ to work with, which was for the best, because as the trial got closer I realized I didn't even want to make an effort.

"He was…scary. Never once seemed apologetic or even upset that he'd gotten caught…all he would say was that they didn't understand how she needed him. His main concern was whether he'd be able to see her again."

Christina leaned forward, visibly hesitating before divulging, "That arrest? Agent Booth was too angry, too emotionally involved. If he'd have waited a few seconds, Lowell would have started taking photos, and he'd have had him."

"You're sure?"

"Not in the way the state cares about, but I'm fairly positive. He never stopped talking about her…during appeals, anything, all he kept saying was he had to get out so he could 'go to Temperance' again. After Agent Booth's interrogation of him, I met with Sean outside the holding cell…he said that Agent Booth was no good for her, and that he'd have to remind her what someone who really loved her was like."

In spite of herself, Alex had to suppress a shudder; still, she said nothing.

"I called Sean when I found out about the restraining order, after he'd been released, to make sure he understood that it only reinforced his parole conditions. He just kept talking about how good it had been to see her, and finally I asked him if he understood that he wasn't allowed to go near her. And he said….'I've waited over twenty years, I suppose I can try to make it a little longer.'"

Alex's eyes were wide. "Does the prosecutor know he told you this?"

"Funnily enough, he didn't ask," Christina said, nearly smiling. Instantly, she sobered and added, "My testimony for them is all about reiterating the fact that there was no hard, legal evidence that Sean was stalking. And that's true. But there is a hell of a lot that leads common sense to saying otherwise."

Alex leaned back in her chair, smiling a little. "Fascinating."

"What is?"

"I don't know that I've ever been looking so forward to a cross examination."

~(B*B)~

When there were just under three weeks before the trial, Brennan's continued stint of house arrest coincided with the one year anniversary of Vincent Nigel-Murray's death.

Though they weren't working a case together, Hodgins called both Booth and Sweets to let them know of their original plan; to go to Founding Fathers after work, drink to Vincent's memory, reminisce a bit, in honor of the fallen squintern. Sweets agreed instantly, but Booth hedged until Hodgins realized why, and immediately suggested they move the gathering to Booth's apartment.

It was nice, seeing all her friends at once; they'd developed a habit, conscious or not, of coming to visit in shifts. And Brennan knew she wasn't the best company, so the visits often felt like a forced, slightly uncomfortable obligation.

But this was different. It wasn't about her; they could have been anywhere, the bar, the diner…the dynamic was the same.

With one exception.

Booth was quiet all night; distracted and broody. Brennan wasn't sure why, and didn't want to say anything in front of the others; several times she caught his eye, shooting him a concerned look, but Booth merely forced a smile before glancing away.

Their friends stayed for hours, toasting Vincent, sharing bits of trivia he'd passed along and that were somehow impossible to forget. At one point, after a good many toasts, Sweets initiated a slightly slurred repeat performance of "Lime in Da Coconut".

Eventually, when Angela and Hodgins had to relieve a babysitter, Brennan called a cab for her friends, and they departed for the night, leaving her alone with Booth, who was, in addition to being nearly sober, moving around the living room in silence, cleaning.

"Alright," Brennan said the second the door closed behind Cam. "What's going on?"

"Huh?" Booth paused in his cleaning, blinking at Brennan as though surprised to find her standing there.

"Are you _okay_?" There was genuine concern in her tone.

Booth smiled, but it was a poor effort. "I'm fine." He came over and brushed his lips against Brennan's temple before throwing the a collection of bottles into the kitchens trash can. "Getting late is all. You ready for bed?"

Brennan nodded and followed him, with the distinct impression that _she_ was the one who had just been lied to.

~(B*B)~

That night, Booth lay awake until Brennan's breathing evened out beside him. Then, he eased himself out of bed, crept out of the room and left the apartment.

Just like the night of their fight over three weeks ago, Booth drove, for hours, along dark, solitary stretches of road.

It was a stupid, silly thing, a mere illusion of leaving things behind, but somehow it calmed the searing floods of self loathing that had been gnawing at Booth's gut.

He could pretend, just for a few seconds at a time, that he could run away from the trial, from the memories, from the thoughts and terrifying questions that suddenly wouldn't stop plaguing him.

He could almost pretend he had a chance of escaping himself, and what he had done.

~(B*B)~

"Where do you go at night?"

Booth froze. It was the fourth night in a row, since the anniversary of Vincent's death, that he'd snuck out after Brennan fell asleep. He'd been sneaking back in, at 3:49 in the morning, when she'd shattered his illusion of secrecy by speaking.

Brennan rolled over and looked up at him; even in the darkness of their bedroom, he could see the hurt shading her eyes. "You've been quiet and withdrawn for days," Brennan told him softly. Her voice hardened, eyes flashing, "Slightly hypocritical, don't you think? Not telling me?"

Exhaling slowly, Booth lowered himself onto the bed, just sitting. "You know I feel bad leaving the apartment for no reason when you can't," he told her lamely.

"I don't mind that you leave, I mind that you aren't telling me about it."

For a long moment, Booth was silent. Then, he lifted his head, his eyes boring into hers in the darkness. "What I did. To Lowell, was…was it the same as what Brodsky did?"

Momentarily thrown by this change in topic, Brennan stared at Booth for a moment, unspeaking. Then, recovering, she asserted vehemently, "_No_. Booth, of _course_ not."

"How?" Booth asked, an edge to his voice that didn't quite succeed in hiding the note of distress. "How is it any different?" A desperate, humorless laugh escaped him. "That whole case, I was so sure I was on the right side, that I was nothing like him. And now…tell me, Bones, tell me how there's anything different about what I did and the kind of thing he would do."

Instantly, Brennan's heart clenched, complete clarity dawning. The anniversary of Vincent's death had forced Jacob Brodsky into Booth's memory, and for four days, he'd clearly been torturing himself with comparisons.

Brennan sat up, automatically moving closer to Booth. She was considering his question carefully, desperate to reassure him. "It's completely different, Booth. When Brodsky killed the Gravedigger, she was already on death row, she'd been convicted by the justice system…and she was no longer a threat. He simply decided his own justice was superior. He was also profiting from the kills, remember?. It was a selfish act, done only for his own gain. And his kills weren't at all personal.."

Booth had lowered his gaze, and Brennan reached out, her fingers gently grazing Booth's cheek, making him look at her. "You are _nothing_ like Brodsky, Booth. You could never be like him." Booth leaned into her touch, and suddenly Brennan thought of another point. "Also, Brodsky didn't mind collateral damage…he killed a woman merely to use her apartment for a shot. You haven't hurt anyone else."

"Except I have," Booth told her, his voice raw. "You."

Her throat narrowing, Brennan shook her head vigorously. "_No_," she bit out heatedly. "it isn't the same. You know that." Her voice softening, Brennan leaned closer to Booth, their foreheads barely touching. "You did what I couldn't, Booth. For me." Her voice caught. "No matter what happens in this trial, please know how much I love you for that."

In the next instant, Booth's arms were around her, his face pressed against Brennan's collarbone. Brennan's fingers made soft, gentle motions against the back of Booth's neck.

Booth stayed there, hidden against her, letting Brennan's simple, tender touch heal him, until his eyes went dry, his breaths evened out. Then, without a word, he rounded his mouth against the base of her throat, then letting his lips slip down the slope of her shoulder before he sat up and kissed her hard.

As they fell together, Booth dimly realized that Brennan had not asked again where he'd gone when he disappeared in the middle of the night. He marveled that, when it came to him, this woman, who so clung to concrete facts, could instinctually understand that the _why_ was so much more significant than the _where_ of his nighttime absence. Or the fact that Brennan, whose obsession and reverence for the truth, would lie without a thought when it meant protecting him.

~(B*B)~

The next morning, Booth was on hour two of mind numbing paperwork when Sweets appeared in the door of his office, looking like he might be sick on Booth's carpet.

Booth's eyebrows shot up. "Geez, Sweets, you look like hell. Go home, you're probably spreading germs."

"I'm testifying," Sweets croaked out, his voice hoarse and unsteady.

"You testify all the time," Booth reminded him, thrown by the non sequitur.

"At Brennan's trial."

"Oh." Booth blinked, surprised. Alex hadn't mentioned calling Sweets as a witness. Last he'd heard, she'd rejected using him for their psychological evaluation due to the fact that his position on the team and his friendship with Brennan made it possible for Chris Gold to discredit him. But maybe she needed him for something else, now that Hodgins had revealed he and Sweets had unknowingly run into Sean Lowell. "Well, so are Angela and Hodgins. And me."

Sweets continued to look stricken. Finally, he held out a piece of paper in Booth's direction.

His confusion and impatience increasing rapidly, Booth stood up, but made no move toward Sweets to take whatever he was offering. "Sweets. _What_ is the problem?"

"The _prosecution_," he managed finally, voice strangled. "I'm testifying for the prosecution."

The words hung between them for a moment; Booth stared at Sweets, the beginnings of panic stirring. "What?"

"They subpoenaed me. To testify…and they subpoenaed the records of all our counseling sessions."

"What?" Booth repeated dumbly, his head spinning. "That…that doesn't make any sense. Why the hell would they subpoena _you_, Gold's gotta know you aren't going to be cooperative…" He narrowed his eyes, face hardening. "What the hell did you put in those files, Sweets!"

"Nothing!" The psychologist insisted, his voice jumping an octave. "I swear! I didn't even know Lowell existed until Dr. Brennan was arrested. Besides, they subpoenaed the records at the same time as me…they haven't even seen them yet, and they already think they want me to testify!"

Booth closed his eyes. "This is bad," he murmured.

It was a huge risk, calling Sweets to testify when his loyalties obviously lay with Brennan, when he most likely be unwilling to rehearse any sort of testimony…when Gold hadn't even seen what his reports might say, for God's sake.

If Chris Gold was taking the chance, he must have a hell of a good reason. Some sort of trump card, something that would counteract anything else Sweets might say…

"Maybe he has no intention of calling you. Maybe he just wants to rattle us," Booth muttered, no conviction in his tone.

Sweets didn't look convinced either. He looked terrified.

"We'll talk to Alex," Booth said finally. "Maybe she can figure out Gold's game…and she can figure out how to use your cross examination for _our_ advantage."

"Right," Sweets replied.

Booth met the younger man's gaze, and he instantly understood that Sweets had come to the same conclusion as he had.

There was something they were forgetting. Something big. Something that, apparently, could be used against Brennan.

~(B*B)~

"Booth?"

They'd been lying in the dark in silence for nearly half an hour, but Brennan suspected Booth was still awake.

He had spent the evening worrying and ranting about the latest development. This sort of blow was the last thing they needed two weeks before the trial, and even Alex had sounded slightly unnerved when Booth had called her. Still, she'd brushed it off, planning to meet with them and Sweets in two days, to attempt to figure out what Gold had on Sweets that made him willing to risk using an uncooperative witness, as well as figure out how to use Alex's cross examination to their advantage if at all possible.

Brennan understood their concern. She understood what Gold blindly calling Sweets suggested.

But she had other anxieties taking precedent.

"Yeah, Bones?" Booth's voice floated toward her, and he rolled slightly, eyes searching for her in the darkness.

"If I ask you something…will you answer honestly?"

Booth's eyebrows drew together, concern filling his eyes. "Yeah, of course." He smiled slightly. "That's our deal, remember?"

Brennan paused, choosing her words carefully. "Did you ever consider…going behind my back and telling the truth? Have you ever tried to…determine a way that you could feasibly do it?"

Booth was quiet for so long that Brennan was afraid he wouldn't answer the question.

Eventually though, he stated in a low voice, "I'd go to Detective Kinley. Walk into his office, tell him I had information about Sean Lowell's murder. The word would get his attention. I'd tell him I could guarantee full cooperation and disclosure, and all I needed from him was a signed guarantee granted you immunity from charges or perjury or providing false information…He might suspect, from that, but he couldn't do anything without a confession. But he'd know enough to realize it's important. He'd probably have to talk to Chris Gold, or the judge but…he'd get and done. And then I'd tell him."

The thoroughness of this plan rendered Brennan nearly breathless with fear. When she could speak, she stated fiercely, "But you realize you _can't_ do that. And you won't, _right?_"

"It's just something I've thought about, Bones," Booth told her, not really answering the question.

"Booth…" There was a catch in Brennan's voice that she didn't light. She set her jaw, forcing her tone to stay firm and steady. "You have to promise me. No matter what happens…whether you think the trial is going badly, or if something….no matter _what_ happens, you cannot tell the truth." He didn't reply right away, and Brennan's chest tightened, a note of panic slipping into her voice as she repeated, "_Promise _me."

His eyes glittering with equal parts defiance and apology, Booth simply said quietly, "I won't let you go to jail for this, Bones."

Brennan closed her eyes against the tears threatening her; she was fully aware that Booth was evading the question. "I would still say you were lying," she bit out finally, not looking at him. "To protect me. They have my fingerprints, they have testimony…they'd believe me over you."

"Maybe so," Booth muttered. Then, he shook his head, tone conciliatory. "It's just something I've thought about in the bad moments, Bones, okay? That's what you asked."

She barely nodded, saying nothing.

"Are you okay?" Booth asked after a moment, his voice thick with worry. "You've been quiet all day is it…is it the Sweets thing?"

Lowering her eyes, avoiding his gaze, Brennan murmured, "Yes, that's it."

So she let Booth thread his fingers through her hair, whispering reassurances, backtracking through all worry and reasoning that it couldn't be anything too damaging, completely unaware that she'd just lied to him for the first time in weeks.

~(B*B)~

"Angela?"

Brennan's voice sounded strange, even to her own ears. She'd been working herself up to this phone call all morning, ever since Booth left for work, and suddenly her throat was drying, her heart hammering.

"Hey, Sweetie." There was a hesitant pause, as though Angela, too, could hear the anxiety underlying the single word Brennan had produced. "Everything okay?"

"I…." Brennan swallowed hard, tightening her grip on the phone. "Are you busy?"

"We're working a case with Booth, actually, but I just gave Cam the facial reconstruction, so I'm free at the moment. What's up?"

A dull, instinctual pang of regret hit Brennan at the mention of them all working cases without her, but it dissolved instantly as she continued, "Could you…could you bring me something?"

"Of course, Bren, what do you need?"

Brennan hesitated. "Are you on the forensics platform?"

"I'm in my office…."

"Are you alone?"

Something like alarm was threaded through Angela's tone now. "_Yes_, Brennan, what's-"

"You can't tell anyone," Brennan insisted in a rush. "Not even Hodgins, but…especially not Booth. You have to promise me."

"Brennan, you're starting to scare me. What's going on?"

Brennan closed her eyes. "I need you to bring me a pregnancy test."

_A/N: So, there you have it. A potential pregnancy probably seems like old hat at this point, but that part was planned before we knew Emily was pregnant, much less Brennan haha. Anyway, hope your intrigued for the quickly approaching trial, and hope you enjoyed all the stuff Booth and Bren have been going through this chapter. I'd love to hear from you! Should have another update up soon!_


	9. Fall Apart Again

**This Is An Author's Note Read First:** Sorry for the slight delay on this, I've been working at camp for two weeks and had virtually no time and, after the first week, no internet service at all. This chapter is shorter than the last few, and it cuts off sooner than was originally planned, but my beta is out of town for the next week or so but she managed to read most of this before she left. And I didn't want to wait too long to post, but the next chapter transitions us into a new stage of the story (bet you can guess what) and I was hesitant to introduce that without feedback. But I love this chapter a little, as it explores another one of my favorite aspects of the show besides Booth/Brennan, and hopefully it works on its own.

Oh, and the song is by Brandi Carlile and you should all know her uh-huh.

Chapter Eight

_Long is the day, take it away  
Hold it up and you don't let it fall  
Cause devils play, was yesterday  
And I don't care about that at all_

_I just smile, once in a while_  
_Because I don't want the lines on my face_  
_I sit right here, holding the years_  
_And I count all the stars in space_

_You fall apart again and you can find a friend_  
_Don't turn to someone else because they wonjust smile, once in a while_  
_Because I don't want the lines on my face_  
_I sit right here, holding the years_  
_And I count all the stars in space_

_You fall apart again and you can find a friend_  
_Don't turn to someone else because they won't understand..._

Brennan opened the door to her apartment and immediately pulled Angela inside with one hand, the other plucking the small plastic bag from Angela's hand.

"Sweetie…" Angela's voice was rich with concern.

"You didn't say anything, did you?" Brennan demanded immediately, her eyes not on Angela but on the small box she'd pulled out.

"Of course not, Bren, but just…hey." Gently, Angela put a hand on Brennan's arm, waiting for her to look up at her. "Just take a second. Relax. Either way, it's going to be fine."

Angela hadn't been sure what to expect when she arrived at Brennan's apartment; now, as her best friend stared back at her, the strength of terror in Brennan's eyes nearly stole Angela's breath.

Still, Brennan's voice was a forced, deliberate calm when she stated, "I just need to confirm. Right now it's merely a suspicion." She turned the pregnancy test box over in her hands, making no move toward the bathroom. Finally, she lifted her eyes to meet Angela's, then said quietly, "You'll stay? Until I know?"

"Sweetie, of _course_. As long as you need me, okay? Now, go." Angela gave Brennan a gentle push in the direction of her and Booth's bedroom. "You'll feel better when you know for sure."

~(B*B)~

"Bren?" Angela called out cautiously. She was sitting on the edge of Booth and Brennan's bed, waiting for Brennan to emerge from their bathroom. By her watch, the results should be in. After a pause, she repeated, a little louder, "Brennan?"

Slowly, the bathroom door opened and Brennan emerged, stone faced, her shaking hand clutched around the paper towel wrapped pregnancy test.

Off Angela's questioning look, Brennan admitted in a strained voice, " I can't." Biting her lip, she thrust the test in her best friend's direction. "Please?"

Gingerly, Angela took the stick and shifted it to see the result.

Lifting her gaze to meet Brennan's, a soft, understanding smile on her face, Angela said resolutely, "Congratulations."

Brennan closed her eyes, her only visible reaction. Then, her voice a tight whisper, she said, "I knew."

"It's a good thing," Angela told her gently. "I know it's not the best timing-"

"Angela." Brennan opened her eyes, expression anguished. "What happens if I-"

"You are _not_ going to be convicted."

Instinctively, Brennan's hand drifted to her stomach, her fingers splaying across her skin. A strange sort of awe slowly swelled in her chest.

It quickly dissolved, however. Brennan couldn't seem to force herself to process this beyond the immediate consequences, the most pressing fear.

"I can't tell Booth."

Angela gave her a look, clearly believing this was a knee jerk reaction that was nothing short of ridiculous. "Sweetie, of course you can. You can't keep this from him."

"Angela, I have to. Until after the trial." Again, Angela looked steeled for an argument, and Brennan quickly continued, "He's always wanted…he wants more kids, he talks about being a family." To her utter humiliation, Brennan felt the beginnings of tears rising along the column of her throat. "I want him to be happy when I tell him-"

"Bren, he _will_-"

"No, he'll be worried. Even more worried than he already is, and I can't…" Brennan shook her head hard. "_No_. There are less than two weeks before the trial starts and then it will be over and…and I'll tell him then."

Angela was quiet for a moment, sympathy etched in her expression as she studied Brennan. "Sweetie…you really think you should keep this from Booth?"

"I have to," Brennan gritted out, breaking eye contact. All she could think of was how quickly and easily Booth had described his plan for turning himself in last night, and the fact that he hadn't promised not to actually carry through with it.

Brennan had meant what she'd said; if that happened, she would stick to her story, insist he was the one who was lying. But Booth had the truth on his side, and he would find a way to prove it, to make everyone believe him. He was much better at that than she was.

"Oh, God. Oh my God…." Brennan murmured, not even realizing she was speaking aloud until Angela's arms closed around her.

"Everything's going to be okay," Angela told her firmly. "No _way_ a jury finds you guilty of this. You're going to be completely free in a few weeks, and then, I am going to congratulate you and freak out and celebrate the fact that our kids will get to grow up together and be best friends and all of us can take vacations together every summer…" Angela halted then, her rambling coaxing a small smile from Brennan, just as she'd hoped. Gently, more seriously, Angela added, "This is a good thing. An amazing thing, really."

Brennan swallowed hard, fighting the tightness in her throat. "I want to view it that way," she said softly. "But, Angela, there's a chance…there's a _chance_ I could be going to prison."

This was the first time Brennan had admitted this possibility out loud. In all her conversations with Booth, she had only pointed out why, exactly, the self defense had an excellent chance of acquittal.

But she had never said it was a guarantee; she'd been always been aware of the worst case scenario. Brennan had understood this as a calculated risk, and it was one she was willing to take to protect Booth.

Yet suddenly, the worst case scenario had changed.

Not only could she end up in jail; she could end up in jail through a pregnancy, a pregnancy that would end in the baby being taken away from her. She could miss out on the majority of her child's life.

Logically, Brennan could rationalize this. Her child would be taken away from her only to be given to Booth, who was perfectly capable of raising the baby on his own, who would, objectively, make a much better single parent than Brennan would if the situation was reversed.

Yet just imagining this possibility made Brennan's chest ache, her breaths becoming shallow and harsh as panic descended.

Alarm stripped through her face, Angela grabbed Brennan, whose face had gone paper white, and led her to the couch. "Bren, sweetie, I need you to breathe for me, okay? C'mon slow, even breaths, that's it…" Angela's hand began tracing slow, soothing circles on Brennan's back. "There you go, you're alright."

The ring of Angela's cell phone startled both of them, and Angela grabbed it with her free hand. "Hey, Cam, what's up?" She cut her eyes at Brennan. "What, right now?" Before Brennan could stop herself, her eyes widened in panic, which was all Angela needed to say, "Actually, can you guys just…handle it?" There was a pause, and Angela rolled her eyes. "Get Wendell to do it, I gave him a crash course in the Angelator after the last time he nearly destroyed it...yes. Yes, I'm sure. Call me if you need me to talk you through anything, I just can't get back for another few hours." Another pause, another eyeroll. "Tell Hodgins it's nothing for him to worry about. I'm fine, Ally's fine, everything's fine."

When she'd hung up the phone, Brennan dragged her gaze toward Angela and asked weakly, "You're sure it's alright if you stay?"

"I'm staying as long as you need me to," Angela replied firmly. "And I won't tell any of them what's going on. But Bren…even if you don't tell Booth, which….that's your decision, but…you still have to go the doctor."

"After the trial-"

"No, _now_." Angela's voice left no room for argument. "Or, as soon as possible anyway."

"Ange, I can't even leave the apartment-"

"Well, talk to your lawyer, get her to get you the same sort of pass you get when you meet with her…Brennan, this is serious. Look at you, you're not exactly at your most healthy. You've been losing weight, you're stressed…You need to get this confirmed and get on prenatal vitamins and all the other early pregnancy stuff."

Flushing, Brennan shook her head. "I can't go without Booth," she muttered.

Immediately, Angela's eyes softened. "It's probably too early for them to do a full ultrasound…you just need to get checked out, confirm everything. Booth won't miss anything big." Tentatively, Angela added, "Or you could always just tell him. Booth can handle it, Bren."

Again, Brennan's mind flashed to Booth's plan to come clean; if he knew that she was pregnant, he'd be on his way to see Detective Kinley within moments. And suddenly they'd be locked in a legal mess, truth and lies competing.

Another worst case scenario edged its way into her mind. _Booth _in jail, away from her, away from Parker. Brennan alone with their baby, raising it alone, Booth missing all of it….

Angela could see Brennan was precariously close to tears, and she hastily dropped the subject before Brennan could even manage to protest. She remembered, briefly, how ecstatic Hodgins had been when she'd told him. Who was she to take that sort of moment away from Brennan? "I'm sorry, Bren, you…you tell him whenever you're ready, okay?" She gave Brennan's hand a quick squeeze. "But you do need to go to the doctor, alright. Promise me you'll arrange that with your lawyer?"

Wordlessly, Brennan nodded.

"And I'll go with you," Angela told her. "If you want."

The relief in Brennan's eyes palpable, she nodded again. "Alright."

"Good."

Angela stayed with Brennan for the next few hours; they didn't say much, and when they did talk it was forced conversation that had nothing to do with pregnancy or trials.

Finally, when Brennan was no longer teetering on the edge of a panic attack, she casually told Angela that she might want to get back to the lab.

At the door, Angela gave Brennan a firm look. "Talk to your lawyer. Make an appointment. I mean it." Something else occurring to her, Angela added, "I'll even call Dr. Bano for you…explain the situation. She'll be discreet, you don't have to worry about this getting out."

At that, Brennan nodded gratefully; as the trial drew closer, the media interest had swelled once again.

"Hey…." Angela waited until Brennan met her eyes, and she smiled softly. "You're going to be a really good mom, Sweetie."

Just like, Brennan's throat tightened, and before she could reply, Angela was pulled her into a tight hug. "It's gonna be fine," she murmured softly, the reassurance automatically.

Brennan found her voice just as Angela had gotten a few feet out of the apartment. "Ange?" Angela turned expectedly. "Thank you. For everything."

With an easy smile, Angela replied simply, "Always."

~(B*B)~

Less than an hour later, Brennan was curled on the couch, trying to sleep; it was a practical activity given that she'd lay awake for most of the previous night, worrying.

The sound of the door opening startled her, and Brennan sat up quickly, already tense, before seeing it was only Booth. Immediately, her stomach clenched. He was hours early from work, and as he came closer, she could see his expression was strained and somber.

Brennan's first panicked, irrational thought was that he knew. But that was ridiculous; she and Angela were the only two people who did, and Angela knew not to tell Booth.

"Bones…" His voice only scared her more; it was low and rough, and Booth's eyes held hers as he came and sat beside her on the couch, a sort of dread etched into his face. "We gotta talk, okay? It's Angela…"

The irrational panic surged forward, sending Brennan's mind spinning. Could Angela have let it slip in such a short time frame? Did Booth take one look at Angela and realize something was wrong? Did his supposed gut instinct go that far?

Then came the words "There was an accident", and all of Brennan's thoughts came crashing down.

She stared blankly at Booth, as though refusing to believe the statement might make it less true. "What?"

"She was on her way back to the lab, and another car ran a red light…" Booth kept talking, but his words didn't register with Brennan. There was a strange sort of rushing in her ears, and in a dim, disconnected way, she observed the way Booth was barely sitting on the edge of the couch, his body tense as though he was ready to leap up at any moment.

"-unconscious when they brought her in is all we kno-"

"_No_." Brennan's voice, loud and forceful, fell between them like a cleaver. "I just…I just saw Angela, she was just here, I was just talking to her…" The words tripped over each other in her hurry to prove Booth wrong; Brennan forgot that he wasn't supposed to know that, forgot to worry about the implications if Booth asked why Angela had been at the apartment in the middle of the day.

But he didn't even ask. "She must've been on her way back, Bones." Suddenly his hands were on her arms, his eyes boring into hers. "Listen to me. Cam went with Hodgins to the hospital, and she's going to call as soon as she hears anything…"

There was something strange in his voice, almost placating, and with a jolt Brennan realized why.

She couldn't leave the apartment.

Angela was in the hospital, and Brennan couldn't leave the apartment.

In seconds she was on her feet, moving toward the door, a hurricane of fierce determination.

Booth, though, had clearly been waiting for this, and he jumped up in front of her, catching her in his arms. "Bones, Bones, you _can_'t_, _you know you can't…"

The pitch of her voice inching toward hysteria, Brennan protested, "I have to, I have to see her…"

"Cam's gonna call, any second she's going to call.."

Brennan shook her head vigorously, terror choking her and turning her voice into a raw, trembling wreck. "C-call Alex, I…I get out for idiotic meetings with psychiatrists, they can…they can turn it off for this-"

"I've tried," Booth said, his voice determinedly soft and soothing, a complete contrast to Brennan's tone. "She's not picking up her phone." Brennan seemed to wilt in front of him, and Booth pulled her close. "Cam's going to call-"

Brennan, though, pushed against him, resisting the hug. "Call her now," she demanded. "They should be there, they should know _something_, you…_call her_."

Booth nodded, already pulling out his phone, while Brennan sunk onto the couch, her head in her hands, trying to process.

She'd been the one to call Angela over. She'd been the reason she'd stayed for hours, away from the lab.

Brennan's mind seized on their last exchange at the door.

_Thank you. For everything._

_Always._

Always always always always. The word ran in loop in Brennan's brain, the warm, sincere tone of her best friend's voice…Angela had always been there. She'd never once varied, never pulled away…something Brennan could say about no one else, not even Booth.

Except what if she wasn't?

"Hey, Bones, hey…." Booth was beside her, then, his voice rough with concern, eyes softened. He reached out and brushed his fingers across Brennan's face, wiping tears she hadn't realized were falling. "It's alright…"

"What did Cam say?"

"She didn't answer," he admitted, wincing slightly.

Predictably, Brennan tried again to shove past him, but Booth moved in front of her, his hands held up in surrender. "Bones, just…give her five minutes. Okay? It's a hospital, bad cell service…she said she'd call no matter what the news." Booth could feel Brennan shaking beneath his touch, and he ran his hands up and down her arms, soothing. "We don't know anything about what happened. Ange might be perfectly fine."

"She was _unconscious_," Brennan shot back, her voice splintering.

"Five minutes," Booth repeated, his eyes pleading. He slipped his hand into hers and sat down on the couch, guiding Brennan with him. "I'll call Alex again, too…"

They made it one minute. A call to Alex and then a second call to Cam went unanswered, and suddenly Brennan wrenched her hand from Booth's, her eyes flashing with something almost primal, and ran toward the door.

Booth took off after her, her name catching in his throat. He barely made it in time to squeeze himself between Brennan and the front door.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Get out of the way, Booth."

"Bones, _no_. They _will_ revoke your bail, you'll go to _jail_-"

"Only for two weeks!"

"Plus the trial!"

"I don't care!" Brennan was yelling now, her chest heaving. "I _don't care_, Booth, just let me _go_."

"_I_ care!" He, too, was shouting. "I don't care if it's two _hours_ until the trial, Bones, I don't want you spending another second in that jail-"

"That isn't your decision to make," she gritted out. For a moment, they stared at each other, unbending, until, in a split second, the fierce irritation on Brennan's face cracked open, and she gave Booth a pleading look that was somehow worse. "Booth, _please_."

"I can't." Booth told her again, his voice ragged. "You _know_ I can't let you." He paused, desperate. "Think about it rationally, Bones." She winced slightly, eyes flashing, as though she knew he was using her own way of thinking against her. "We haven't heard anything either way, and you being there won't change-"

"Angela is my best friend," Brennan said thickly, her face twisting. "She could _die_-"

"That isn't going to happen."

The reassurance came automatically, before he could rethink it. In the silence that followed, Brennan gave him a look of such deep, heated anger that Booth physically flinched, regretting his words instantly.

"Don't do that," she told him finally, voice dangerously quiet. "Don't lie to me. You have no idea how bad it is, you have no idea…" She sucked in an uneven breath, narrowing her eyes. "I need to go to the hospital, just…just let me go."

"I just…I _can't_ let you do this, Bones." His apology was written in his eyes, wide and sorrowful.

For a moment, they stared at each other, at an impasse. Then, a fierce, strangled sound pulling itself out of her throat, Brennan shoved forward, reaching under Booth's arm to grab the doorknob, her other hand trying to shove him away.

Brennan tried to force herself forward, and Booth kept himself pressed to the door, stilling her flailing wrists with as gentle a grip as he could allow himself. Still, Brennan struggled against him, her inability to do anything that might hurt him hindering her effort.

"Please…." Her voice was breathless and pleading, a complete contrast to the hard, determined violence of her movements. "Booth, please, I have to go…"

"I'm sorry," he murmured, over and over, the only thing he could manage. "I'm so sorry…"

Booth had his hands on Brennan's upper arms, and he had pulled her close in the struggle. Still, she wrenched her hands between them, shoving his chest, trying to push away. Her face was slick with tears, her voice trembling. "Let me go….Booth, please…"

"It's not just the bail, Bones," he protested, panting. "It won't look good, at the trial…"

"I _don't care_!" Brennan yelled, some final thread of calm breaking inside her. "I didn't kill anyone!"

They froze, the weight of her words hovering and ringing in the breath of air between them.

Then, slowly, Brennan visibly crumpled. Her face fell, the fight draining out of her, and suddenly Booth's grip on her arms was not to hold her back, but to hold her upright.

A low, anguished moan ripped through her, and in the next moment sobs were tearing themselves from Brennan's chest, hard, coughing sobs that made her ribs ache with their force.

Brennan was slumped against Booth, and he slowly lowered both of them to the floor, pulling Brennan onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her.

She buried her face against his collar; her hands, still poised against Booth's chest from attempts to shove him away, suddenly seized fistfuls of his shirt, gripping like he was her only anchor, an instinct she was too weak to fight at the moment.

Booth pressed his lips against Brennan's hair as sobs wracked her entire body. His voice thick with threatening tears, he murmured quiet, soothing words, all the while feeling as though some crucial part of him was crumbling.

He'd thought he was sorry before…it was nothing compared to this.

"God, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, baby." The endearment, still a rarity, always escaped in the most vulnerable moments. "It's gonna be okay, I'm right here…I've got you…I'm so sorry…"

He held her that for what seemed like hours. In reality, though, about twenty minutes passed before his cell phone began to ring.

Brennan stiffened instantly, falling quiet as Booth grappled for the phone. "Camille?" Brennan stared at him, her heart seizing in her chest as she waited.

Then, a relieved smile split Booth's face. "She's okay?" Brennan went limp, her face falling into her hands, a different sort of tears staining her palms. "Great. Yeah, no, it's alright. Thanks. Okay. Yeah." Booth cut his eyes at Brennan. "Can she talk to Bones?" A pause. "Oh. Yeah, alright. Just…have her call when she's awake? Yeah, I know. Okay. Thanks again, Camille. Bye."

He hung up the phone, exhaling slowly and shakily. "She's alright." Brennan stared at him, waiting for more, and Booth gently brushed aside a strand of hair that was sticking to her cheek. "She was pretty beat up, stitches and some broken bones, but she's alright. She's got a concussion, and Cam said they just took her into surgery for her shoulder. But she's going to be just fine."

Saying nothing, Brennan continued to stare at Booth, her expression blank, tears still falling.

"Cam promised to call after the surgery. And I told her to have Ange call you as soon as she's awake…" When Brennan's expression still didn't change, Booth reached out, his thumb grazing her cheekbone. "Bones…"

The second he touched her, Brennan recoiled, rocking back on her heels so quickly that Booth jumped, startled.

Wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeve, Brennan shakily got to her feet, staring down at Booth. There was an angry heat in her eyes, and such a sense of utter betrayal that it stole Booth's breath. He reached out toward her, purposelessly but instinctively.

"Just get away from me," Brennan gritted out, through clenched teeth.

She turned, moving away from him, slamming the bedroom door behind her and leaving Booth sitting alone, sick and dizzy with leftover panic and the now familiar sense that he had made an irrevocable mistake.

~(B*B)~

"Bones! Bones, come on, we need to talk about this."

Booth's voice was distant and dim from Brennan's position in the bathroom, two locked doors between the two of them. She was crouched in front of the toilet, having thoroughly emptied the contents of her stomach, and now simply felt too weak and shaky to move.

The sickening terror of the last half hour lingered, a pain after the sharp, initial cut.

Brennan was a person who didn't believe in dwelling on _what if_s. Such mental pursuits were a waste of time.

Except suddenly she couldn't stop thinking: _What if Angela had died?_

And, on the heels of that thought, _What if she had died and Booth kept me from seeing her?_

From the word 'accident' on, Brennan's mind had sped toward the worst case scenario, something she was apt to do these days. Angela had been unconscious when she arrived at the hospital, and the whole time they waited for Cam to call, the whole time Booth held her back, Brennan was imagining the dozens of ways her best friend could die in a car crash.

The worst case scenario hadn't happened. But Booth had no way of knowing that; even when it was a possibility, he had kept Brennan away, physically stopping her from making her own decision. He had to have known what might happen, that there was a possibility that she would never see Angela alive again…yet he'd held her back.

For all Booth's guilt over every facet of this ordeal, this was the first time Brennan had blamed him for anything.

Brennan moved quietly out of the bathroom and lay down on the bed, desperately tuning out Booth's voice on the other side of the locked bedroom door. Curling up on the bed, Brennan squeezed her eyes closed to prevent a fresh wave of threatening tears.

Her best friend could have died, and Brennan had no way of going to see her. It had happened, based on the chronology of events, because of Brennan forcing Angela to sit with her for hours. And _that_ had happened because Brennan was pregnant, at the worst possible time, a time when something that should have been terrifyingly exciting was merely terrifying.

Today had already been the worst day in a string of difficult days, and it had left Brennan feeling sick and empty and bone tired. Her instinctive desire, in moments like this, was to go to Booth, to curl up beside him until she could breathe a little easier.

Except, right now, she couldn't so much as look at him without feeling breathless with the weight of her own anger.

~(B*B)~

Eventually, Booth abandoned his position at the locked bedroom door, reluctantly recognizing that he needed to give Brennan space.

It was several hours later, around dinnertime, when he once again knocked lightly on the door. "Bones?" Predictably, there was only silence. "Bones, c'mon phone for you….it's Angela."

That got her to her feet, and after a few seconds the door swung open. Brennan looked exhausted; her heavy, bloodshot eyes did not even graze Booth's face as she took her cell phone from his hand and turned back into the bedroom.

"Bren?" Angela's voice, slightly weak, hit Brennan, and immediately her throat constricted, the full force of relief finally hitting her. Suddenly afraid that any attempt to speak would cause her to start bawling, Brennan didn't reply.

After the pause had lingered, Angela prompted again, "Bren, you there?" Something about this simple statement drew a crooked sound from Brennan's throat, and Angela's voice immediately melted into concern. "Oh, sweetie…"

"I'm sorry," Brennan managed. "I'm so sorry, Ange…"

"Okay, we're putting a stop that right now," Angela said firmly. "This was in no way your fault, alright?"

"But-"

"Nuh-uh," Angela cut her off instantly. "Use your logic, Bren. You had no way of knowing. I could have just as easily got into an accident on my way home from the lab one night…would that have been your fault, too, because you gave me a job? No way."

Brennan nearly smiled, and the movement felt foreign. It faded quickly, though, as she told Angela, "I tried to go the hospital, I wanted to-"

"I know, Booth told me," Angela replied. "it's okay."

"It isn't," Brennan countered fiercely. "You could've…I thought you might die."

"But I didn't. I'm fine. And, hey, maybe now you know how I feel when you spend half your life running after dangerous murderers," Angela teased gently, a smile in her voice.

For some reason, this started Brennan crying again.

"Hey, hey, hey….it's okay." Angela's voice was soothing, and slightly taken aback. She waited for a moment, and when Brennan's cries only intensified, Angela added worriedly, "Bren, talk to me. Come on, Sweetie, don't cry so hard…" Helplessly, hindered by the phone, Angela tried, "Do you need to go get Booth?"

"No," Brennan choked. "No, not that…"

Her sympathy palpable, Angela said softly, "You're having a rough time of it today, huh, sweetie?"

With great effort, Brennan sucked in a breath, forcing strength into her voice. "You're the one who's in the hospital."

"Yeah, but I'll be okay," Angela told her. "They're probably going to let me go home tomorrow, even. Two days at the latest."

"They are?"

"Yes. And I'll come by and see you, okay? First thing."

Brennan didn't even try to protest the necessity of this. "Alright."

"Are you gonna be okay, Bren?" Angela asked softly after a moment.

"As long as you are," Brennan replied honestly.

"I am," Angela insisted, her throat tightening. "You know I love you, right?" Without waiting for an answer, Angela continued, "And, yes, I know you love me, too."

Brennan nearly smiled again.

"We're _both _going to be okay. Go let Booth take care of you, alright?"

Not wanting to tell Angela yet that she was angry at Booth, Brennan only said, "I'll see you tomorrow. Right?"

"Of course. Unless something changes. And hey…call your lawyer. I'm not letting you get out of seeing a doctor."

~(B*B)~

Half an hour after she got off the phone with Angela, Brennan emerged from the bedroom to find Booth sitting on the couch, Ally on his lap, a picture book open in front of them.

Taken by surprise, Brennan stared for a moment until Booth explained, his voice cautious, "I told Angela we'd keep her tonight so Hodgins could stay at the hospital…I just ran over to pick her up from the nanny."

Brennan didn't say anything, but something about the image, the baby perfectly relaxed against Booth's chest, made her chest constrict painfully, and she thought again of the pregnancy test, the secret she couldn't tell him.

"Are you alright?" Booth asked quietly.

Blinking back tears that wouldn't seem to stop, Brennan turned her back to him without answering, going to the kitchen, searching the fridge for something to eat.

"Bones, I'm sorry," Booth told her; his voice was quiet, but she could tell he was moving toward her. "I know you're mad, and I get it, but…_please_, just…I had to-"

"_Don't_," Brennan said sharply, whirling around to find him standing behind her now, Ally balanced on one side. "I can't…I can't talk about this. Not now."

"Okay," Booth agreed softly, his eyes searching her face, the weight of his gaze so heavy that Brennan immediately lowered her eyes. Booth started to say something, but stopped as Ally began reaching her arms toward Brennan. "You want to see Aunt Bones, Al?"

Brennan lifted her gaze to take the little girl in her arms. Ally grinned up at her, babbling softly, her fingers tangling in Brennan's hair. A smile pulled automatically at Brennan's lips, and she thought suddenly of what Angela had said, about their kids growing up together and being best friends. This pulled to mind a fuzzy mental image of all of them, having family vacations together or whatever else Angela had said, and abruptly Brennan passed the baby back to Booth, walking out of the kitchen without getting food.

~(B*B)~

Booth's heart clenched as he watched Brennan disappear into the bedroom yet again, closing the door behind her, a clear message that he wasn't to follow.

They were two weeks away from the trial, and Booth had thought that the shock and confusion of Sweets' subpoena had been enough of an issue to complicate this final stage of waiting, but it was nothing compared to this.

He couldn't let Brennan pull away from him again, especially not now. Not when the worst part of all this was finally coming.

And there was something in her eyes tonight that scared him, something behind her anger and the remnants of fear. It was like something in Brennan had finally broken, as if whatever had nearly happened to Angela without her there was the final crack that caused her strength to crumble.

Booth needed to be there for her; he needed to make that look in her eyes go away. But he'd screwed up, badly. Brennan rarely retreated into quiet and avoidance; she and Booth bickered and fought with heat and ferocity, never holding back frustrations and rarely letting issues hover silently. And when she was angry, Brennan had no problem rationally and matter-of-factly explaining what, exactly, Booth had done.

So when Brennan pulled away, it wasn't manipulative. It was never a punishment, or some sort of tactic. It was merely because being around him was too hard, and that thought scared Booth more than anything.

Still, he knew better than to push her too soon. So Booth spent the rest of the evening outside of the bedroom, feeding Ally dinner and later putting he to bed in the portable crib he'd taken from Hodgins' and set up in Parker's room, along with a baby monitor.

Booth had been flicking dully through the television channels, the volume low, for nearly an hour and a half when the door to the bedroom slipped open.

At the sound of footsteps, Booth whipped around just in time to see Brennan, eyes lowered, her hair damp and loose around her shoulders, retreating back into the bedroom, deliberately leaving the door propped open.

The gesture, in all its silent simplicity, tore at Booth's heart.

Angry as she was, as long as she'd spent avoiding him this afternoon, Brennan wouldn't go so far as to keep him out at night, and she wanted to make that perfectly clear.

Booth kept his eyes on the doorway, waiting until the glow of a lamp disappeared before standing up and quietly heading inside.

Brennan was curled on her side on the bed, facing the wall rather than the center of the bed as usual. Booth set the baby monitor on his bedside table, then let his knuckles graze Brennan's arm before he straightened, moving quietly into the bathroom.

After a shower, Booth returned to the bedroom, flicking off the light before moving stealthily across the room and sliding into the bed beside Brennan.

Her breathing was slow and even, but Booth wasn't convinced she wasn't merely feigning sleeping. Just in case, he rolled over, leaning over her and brushing his lips against Brennan's temple.

"Love you," he whispered softly against her ear, the slightest bit of desperation tingeing Booth's tone. Without waiting to see if she would wake up, Booth rolled away, moving to his own sign and curling inward, his eyes on Brennan's back until he eventually drifted to sleep.

~(B*B)~

"Is it, um…okay if I come in?"

Angela lifted her eyes, and immediately smiled. "Of course, G Man. Get in here." His face paled a little, and Booth visibly hesitated. Angela tilted her head, smirking slightly, deliberately ignoring his discomfort at her appearance. "You're cute…flowers and everything."

"Oh, right." Stupidly, Booth thrust them in her direction and finally moved into the hospital room, unable to tear his eyes from the artist's face.

Angela's left arm was in a full sling, obviously from her surgery. The left side of her face was swollen and bruised, and a row of stitches ran the length of her forehead.

"Uh…where's Hodgins?"

"Getting me lunch," Angela replied easily, eyeing Booth. When he continued to stare openly, she told him gently, "I'm really alright. It only _looks_ hideous."

He gave her a small smile, finally relaxing slightly and sitting down in the chair beside Angela's hospital bed. "I'm glad you're alright, Ange."

"Thanks. So am I." She paused, almost as though she was waiting for him to say something. When he didn't, Angela continued, "Thanks for taking Ally last night. She do okay?"

"Oh, yeah, she was no trouble at all. Back with the nanny now."

Angela eyed him. "What about Bren? How's she doing?"

Booth's entire body wilted. "I…I really don't know. She's…" Her face twisted, and Booth whispered, "She's _so_, so mad at me, Angela."

This was news to Angela, but it didn't surprise her at all. "For not letting her come here?"

Booth nodded, his throat narrowing. "I messed up," he admitted hoarsely. "I should have let her, she…I had to physically hold her back at the door." Angela's whole face softened, but she said nothing. "I just…I panicked. I knew she'd try to bolt, I knew she'd have to see you, but…the thought of her going back to that prison."

"I know," Angela assured him gently. "For the record, I'm so glad she didn't risk that. A messed up shoulder and a concussion would _not_ have been worth it."

After a moment, Booth said softly, "Except I didn't _know _it was just a messed up shoulder and a concussion. And I still stopped her." He looked away, setting his jaw. "She knew what she was doing. She knew the risks and I wouldn't…I wouldn't let her make her own decision."

"Okay. So you get it," Angela replied seriously. "You know why she's mad, and you know she has every reason to be." Her tone softened slightly. "But just give her a little time, Booth. She's just kind of shaken. I talked to her yesterday, remember, and…she was scaring me."

"You should've seen her, Ange," Booth whispered. "She was so scared, she wanted to get to you so badly."

Angela's eyes were shining with tears, but she kept her voice resolutely steady to reply, "Exactly. She's angry at you, but there's more to it than that. The trial's getting closer, the house arrest is frustrating…she's dealing with a lot." Privately, Angela thought of the pregnancy test, the baby Booth didn't know about. It was possible that, on some unconscious level, Brennan was grasping to her anger at Booth to make keeping the pregnancy from him a little easier.

Booth, too, fell quiet, thinking. Brennan's panicked statement in the doorway echoed in his head.

_I didn't kill anyone!_

_Re_membering the knee jerk response, the insistence of the statement, made Booth's stomach lurch sickeningly.

It was the first time Brennan had ever stated the facts in this way, as though trying to convince him. And it worried Booth that, now that a potential unforeseen result of her situation had presented itself, Brennan was feeling everything she hadn't let herself feel before.

Like anger over the fact that Booth killed Sean Lowell without considering the consequences. Or regret over taking the fall herself.

Last night, Booth had been the one to hold her back, enforcing a punishment that should have been his, in spite of the potentially devastating effects.

How could she _not_ hate him for that?

"She'll be alright," Angela said hesitantly after awhile. "You'll work it out."

"Yeah," Booth muttered distractedly. "She'll be better when she sees you, I think."

They nodded, both avoiding the others gaze, both rendered silent by their secrets.


	10. Blood Bank

Hey guys! Sorry for the delay on this one...I've been moving to a new house where I go to school, so I've been back and forth a lot, plus working while I can when I'm still in town, finishing up last minute hang outs and whatnot with everyone here. But I move back to school in two days, and I usually get a lot more writing done there, go figure. Anyway, won't keep you waiting any longer...read and review!

Chapter Eight

_That secret that you know  
But don't know how to tell  
It fucks with your honor  
And it teases your head  
But you know that it's good girl  
Because it's running you with red_

Angela had been knocking on Booth's apartment door for nearly a minute, with no answer. She paused, confused; it wasn't as though Brennan wasn't home.

She was about to pull out her cell phone to call when, spontaneously, she tried the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked.

"Bren?" Angela called, stepping into the living room. Immediately, she clamped her lips shut, eyes falling on the living room couch, where Brennan was curled up, asleep.

Immediately, Angela's brow furrowed in concern. It was unlike Brennan to nap, particularly so late in the afternoon.

Angela moved quietly into Booth's den. "Bren?" she prodded gently. Under the thin blanket she was wrapped in, Brennan shifted slightly, but didn't wake up. Angela reached out and brushed her knuckles against Brennan's arm, repeating, "Brennan?"

Brennan scrunched up her face, her eyes fluttering open, darting around in an unfocused manner before landing on her best friend and lighting up. "Angela!" She sat up, her smile of relief wilting almost instantly. Brennan's face tightened as she took in Angela's injuries. "Oh, Ange…"

"Don't," Angela cut her off with a hug, which Brennan returned fiercely. "It's worse than it looks. I'm fine."

When Brennan drew back, Angela saw she was near tears. "God, sweetie, you really are hormonal, aren't you?"

Blinking rapidly, Brennan automatically shushed Angela, in spite of Booth's absence from the apartment. "I'm just really glad you're okay."

Angela tilted her head, her gaze softening as she gently asked, "Are _you_?"

Most days Angela been by to visit during the house arrest, Brennan had been as put together as ever, dressing as though she might be heading to the lab at any time. Today, though, she'd pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, her eyes were bloodshot and free of makeup, and she was still wearing the tank top and flannel shorts she slept in.

"Fine," Brennan said, predictably but unconvincingly. She slid over on the couch, curling her legs underneath her so Angela, expression doubtful, could sit down beside her.

"Really?"

The quickness with which Brennan's façade fell apart worried Angela more than anything. "I'm just…" Her voice hitched. "I'm just _so_ tired, Ange."

"I know you are, sweetie," Angela replied softly, her heart catching.

"And I…I'm worried. All the time, I worry, and I know…I know it's almost over, but…"

"…but that just makes you worry more," Angela finished. Brennan nodded, lowering her gaze, her hands folding unconsciously over her stomach. After a silence, Angela ventured, "I bet fighting with Booth doesn't help."

At that, Brennan's head snapped up. "How'd you know?"

"He came to visit me at the hospital this morning."

Unexpectedly, fresh anger knifed through Brennan. Her eyes hardening, she muttered, "Good for him."

Even Angela was taken aback at the bitterness in Brennan's tone. She recovered quickly, though, and placed a comforting hand on Brennan's arm, saying, "Bren, it turned out he was right to keep you from going. You coming to see me because of some shoulder surgery isn't worth jail time."

"Yes, but he didn't know that's what happened," Brennan reminded her, a distressed note slipping into her voice as she continued, "You could have been dying, and he didn't let me go. I would've just been…_trapped _here, just…waiting to hear it from a phone call."

"Brennan," Angela's voice was firm, but her genuine worry was seeping into her tone. "It's not like you to get all hung up on hypotheticals…especially past hypotheticals that didn't happen." She paused, then tentatively suggested, "Are you sure you're not just…staying mad at Booth because, on some level, it makes it easier to keep the pregnancy from him?"

"I hate psychology," Brennan muttered dismissively.

"Yes, you've said," Angela replied with a small smile.

Brennan was frowning, though, as she continued slowly, "It wasn't just…what potentially could have happened. It's…Booth _held me back_, Angela. He actually blocked the door, I…it should have been my decision."

"I know," Angela agreed gently. "He was wrong, but he was trying to protect you. And when it comes to protecting you, Booth has a blind spot for everything else. You know that." Brennan bit her lip, glancing away. "Sweetie, I know why you're angry. But you need him right now." Again, Angela scrutinized the exhaustion evident in Brennan's eyes. "The trial's so close, Bren, and you…you shouldn't have to go through that alone."

Crossing her arms, Brennan seemed to curl in on herself, shrinking into the corner of the couch. Quietly, she told Angela, "I'm…trying. Not to be angry. But he…he tries to apologize and I just…" She fell silent, eyes darting to Angela, skirting over the bruising and the stitches.

She didn't say that every time Booth looked at her, his eyes full of apologies, all Brennan could think of was last night; Booth standing between her and the door, apologizing over and over even as he forcibly kept her from leaving.

It brought her right back to those moments, knowing that Angela could be dying somewhere in a hospital, the sharp, biting fear that Brennan might never see her alive again.

There was no point in mentioning that. Angela was right here, a little beat up, but she was fine. And she was right, it was ridiculous to linger on the hypotheticals.

"It's okay to be mad," Angela told her finally. "Just...don't shut him out for too long. For your own good." Angela reached out, covering Brennan's hand with hers and squeezing, such genuine concern in her eyes that Brennan felt her throat tighten. "I'm worried about you."

Brennan forced a laugh. "That seems a little backwards, Angela." She looked pointedly at Angela's injuries, at her shoulder sling.

"I'm okay," Angela assured her again. "Really." Privately, Angela wasn't sure the same could be said of Brennan. "Just…remember what I said about Booth. Okay?" Brennan nodded, but her expression was noncommittal. Suppressing a sigh, Angela added, "And I made you an appointment with my OB."

Brennan's eyebrows shot up. "You what?"

Smugly, Angela smiled. "Hodgins ran into Dr. Bano at the hospital, with another patient, so I found her and explained what's going on." Brennan started to speak, but Angela hurriedly added, "I know you don't want to go without Booth, Bren, but you really shouldn't wait. She'll just confirm the pregnancy and get you started on first trimester protocol…which you _need_."

"Ange, I haven't even talked to Alex, she has to go to a judge."

"The appointment's five days away, Bren, that gives you time to talk to your lawyer and have her arrange everything. I know you're seeing her tomorrow, Sweets told us."

At that reminder, Brennan groaned quietly, grimacing. "I'd forgotten about that."

She, Booth, and Sweets were all meeting with Alex at the Hoover the next day, something they'd planned with news of Sweets' subpoena had been revealed. Alex had insisted they meet collectively, hoping that between the three of them, they might be able to figure out why the prosecution was so interested in Sweets' testimony.

"Yeah, doesn't sound fun," Angela acknowledged, pulling a sympathetic face. "But, hey, at least it gets you out of here, right?" Brennan shrugged listlessly, uncaring, and more instinctual worry surged in Angela. Pressing on, she added, "And so will the doctor's appointment. I told her around noon, when Booth would still be at work, but we'll work it out to whatever the judge wants." Angela paused, waiting for Brennan to protest somehow. When no response was forthcoming, Angela asked firmly, "You _are_ going to talk to her, right?"

"I-"

She stopped speaking abruptly, eyes swinging to the door, which opened as Booth stepped into the apartment.

"Oh," he said, stopping short at the sight of both women. "Hey."

"Hey, Booth," Angela replied. Brennan didn't answer; she was curling into the corner of the couch again, her head turned away from the door.

Angela saw Booth's brow crease in worry as he took in Brennan's appearance, but the worry quickly gave way to a hesitant, cautious expression as he moved further into the apartment, approaching the couch.

"Hey, Bones," Booth murmured softly, his voice low and intimate but uncertain as his hand lightly grazed her hair.

Brennan didn't pull away, but Angela could see her tense up, expression pained; she still wasn't looking at Booth.

"I should go ahead and take off," Angela said as casually as she could, giving Brennan's arm a reassuring squeeze before standing up.

"Already?" Brennan blurted before she could stop herself.

"Yeah, Hodgins is riding Ally around the block for her nap…she always goes to sleep in the car." Angela grinned, then grabbed Brennan and pulled her off the couch so she could hug her fiercely. "I'll call you later, alright, Sweetie?"

Brennan hugged back, hard, feeling a lump forming in her throat as it hit her all over again what could have happened. "I'm really, really glad you're alright." Over Angela's shoulder, she accidentally caught a glimpse of Booth's face, and the utter guilt etched there hurt to look at.

Quietly, Angela whispered in Brennan's ear, "You remember what I said, okay?"

Then she was gone, hugging Booth on her way out the door before leaving the two of them alone.

After a momentary silence, Booth came around the couch and sat down. "You okay?"

Brennan nodded, lowering her eyes and staring fixedly at her hands, knotted in her lap. "Fine."

"Hey…" Gently, Booth reached out across the length of the couch and lifted Brenan's chin. He could see the effort it was taking for her to hold his gaze, and Booth's chest constricted. "Can we talk?"

"I…" Brennan closed her eyes, not wanting to see the desperation in Booth's. "I _just_ talked to Angela about everything and I just…I can't anymore. Not right now."

Defeated, Booth's shoulders slumped; he leaned forward on the couch, raking his hands through his hair. "You know I'm sorry, don't you?," he asked quietly.

"I do know that," she told him honestly.

"Alright," Booth said, standing up. "I'm gonna go change, then…Parks' soccer game is tonight…" Brennan barely nodded, but Booth felt the instinctual pull of guilt that always came when he went somewhere without her. "I could talk to Rebecca, see if he can come over for a little while after…"

"Not necessary," Brennan replied flatly. Immediately, she winced at her own brusqueness, and added, "It's a school night for him, and it'll be late…"

"Yeah, you're right."

Brennan nodded, looking away again, but Booth lingered between the living room and the bedroom, at a complete loss.

Anger he could deal with, but all the anger emanating from Brennan when she told him to get away from her last night was gone. Instead, she was simply withdrawing, her entire demeanor defeated and listless, like she'd finally been beaten down.

No matter how Booth looked at it, it was all his fault.

She'd had nearly two months of being cooped up in the apartment, kept from work, purposeless, nothing to do but worry about the coming trial and testimony; it was no surprise that was wearing Brennan down. Angela's accident had just been a final breaking point.

Booth's throat tightened, and he felt a sudden, overpowering need to say something, anything, that might coax a smile from Brennan.

For once, though, Booth had no idea how.

~(B*B)~

After Parker's soccer team had nabbed an easy 4-1 victory, Booth hung around, talking to his son, plus Rebecca and Brent. Parker immediately asked about Bones, and Booth ignored the knots in his stomach as he assured him she was just fine, but sorry she couldn't make the game.

"Mom promised we could get burgers," Parker told Booth with a grin. He turned to look at Rebecca. "Can Dad come?"

"He's welcome to," Rebecca said, raising a questioning eyebrow at Booth.

"Oh, I don't know…" Booth hesitated; he was torn between guilt over leaving Brennan alone, and the desire to avoid returning to the tense silence of the apartment.

"Dad, please?"

"Yeah, alright," Booth agreed, his son's grin triggering a genuine smile. "Just for a little while, okay?"

"_Yes_!" Parker pumped a fist. "Can I ride with you?"

So a few minutes later, Booth was driving behind Brent's truck to Parker's favorite burger place, his son beside him in the front seat.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah, bud?"

"How long til the trial thing starts?"

"About a week and a half, Parks," Booth replied, his own throat going dry at the thought.

Parker nodded, apparently considering this. "And then Bones gets to come home, right? And she'll be able to leave the apartment again?"

Tightening his grip on the wheel, Booth cleared his throat, forcibly keeping his voice clear and unworried. "That's the plan, yeah."

"But…" Parker's brow furrowed. "She _could_ go to jail?"

"If…if we lost, that's what would happen. But we're not going to lose, buddy, because Bones isn't guilty."

"Oh. Okay, good." Parker sat back in his seat, spinning his soccer ball in his hands. He was quiet for a moment, then began again, "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"How come Bones had to live with that guy when she was younger?"

At that, Booth glanced away from the road briefly, blinking at his son in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"The articles you guys were in said he was Bones' foster father, and Mom said that means she had to live with him for awhile." Parker paused; when Booth didn't respond, he prompted, "So how come? Why didn't she just live with Max?"

Booth set his jaw, staring ahead at the taillights of Brent's car in front of him, unsure of how to respond. What he was thinking, though, was if Parker had now read full articles, rather than just seeing the photographs, he would have a lot more questions.

"You know, buddy, it's kind of complicated stuff…Bones' parents they…they had to go away for awhile."

"But why?" He could see the confusion on Parker's face, the utter inability to grasp the concept of parents leaving, and Booth was momentarily grateful for that.

"There were…some people after them. Some bad guys. And I think they thought Bones would be safer if they weren't with her."

"But…bad guys come after _you_ sometimes," Parker countered, nerves slipping into his tone.

"Yeah, they do, but…it's nothing like that, buddy. I promise." Booth looked over at him managed a shaky grin. "Bones and I _catch_ the bad guys, remember."

Parker grinned, too. "Yeah." His smile faded, slowly. "But…how come they made Bones live with him if he hurt her? And how come no one helped her? "

Booth was quiet as he pulled into the burger place. He was struck, suddenly, with the need to forget dinner and go home, to Brennan. Parker, though, had unbuckled his seat belt but made no move to get out of the car. He simply stared at Booth, patiently waiting for an answer.

"I don't know, Parks," Booth answered in a low voice. "Sometimes…" He shook his head; he didn't have an answer; at least, not one he wanted his ten year old son to hear.

Parker didn't need to hear that sometimes, horrible things happened to people who didn't deserve them. Or that sometimes people were monsters, and sometimes other people just didn't care enough. That sometimes the world was unthinkably hard and cruel.

Finally, though, Parker finished for him. "Sometimes life's not fair, right, Dad?"

It was the kind of statement kids heard all the time, usually in response to protests over bedtime, or the fact that everyone _else_ had the brand new video game system. But Parker repeated it now in a voice heavy with understanding.

Booth touched his hand to Parker's golden, unruly curls. "Yeah, Parks. Sometimes it's not."

~(B*B)~

In spite of his renewed need to get back to the apartment, to see Brennan, Booth had promised Parker, so he dutifully followed his son out of the car and toward the restaurant.

Rebecca, though, took one look at his face and arched an eyebrow. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, can I…can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure," Rebecca answered, looking slightly concerned. She nodded at Brent to take Parker inside. "We'll be inside in just a sec, guys." Immediately, she turned to Booth. "What's going on?"

"Parker was…he was asking questions in the car," Booth cleared his throat, trying to focus. "He said he'd read articles?"

Rebecca sighed, her face darkening. "Yeah, he…that first morning he called you, after the arraignment, I wouldn't let him read anything. But…that stuff was everywhere, Seeley, and he got a hold of one at school."

"At school?"

"Kids know who you are, Seeley. You _and_ Dr. Brennan. Parker loves talking about what you two do. But this…this was everywhere, and the other kids asked him about it."

Booth felt sick to his stomach at this thought. "He never said anything," he muttered, thinking about all the weekends he'd had Parker at the apartment.

"I told him he probably shouldn't say anything around Dr. Brennan," Rebecca admitted. "Some of what he asked me…"

"Like what?" Booth demanded immediately, almost aggressively.

Rebecca lifted her eyes, expression pained. "You know what those articles say, Seeley. You know they say what that man went to jail for in the first place." Booth stared at her, not getting it, and finally Rebecca sighed. "Parker came home from school with the article wanting to know what _rape_ is."

An involuntary sound of disbelief rose from Booth's throat. "You, uh…did you tell him?"

"No, of course not, I…I didn't know what to say, Seeley, I just told him it was something really horrible and, and cruel that really hurt a person and…" She sighed, shaking her head. "Honestly, I barely remember what I said. I wasn't expecting that from him, and I wasn't exactly prepared."

"You should have told me," Booth said quietly. "I would've talked him, I…"

"I figured you two had enough to worry about," Rebecca told him, and when Booth looked at her, he was surprised by the level of sympathy in her eyes. "He's been really worried about her, you know."

Booth looked away, his throat tightening. He thought of Brennan at home, the empty, defeated look that had been in her eyes since yesterday afternoon, and, in spite of what she'd said earlier, he heard himself asking, "Do you think Parker could come by tonight? I think Bones would really like to see him…"

Rebecca glanced at her watch, expression doubtful. "It's already late, Seeley, and he's got homework…" She paused, then offered, "What about if he spends the weekend with you guys?"

Since it wasn't Booth's scheduled weekend, he could recognize the generosity of the offer. "That'd be really good. Thanks, Bec."

~(B*B)~

An hour later, Booth crept back into his house, holding a mint chocolate chip milkshake, Brennan's favorite.

He was surprised to find the apartment dark, and the living room empty. Still carrying the milkshake, he moved quietly into the bedroom, to find Brennan asleep.

Immediately, concern gripped him. It was barely ten o'clock, extremely early by Brennan's usual standards.

He thought, briefly, of waking her up, of making her listen to him. The thought of going to sleep for the second night in a row without resolving this fight made him vaguely ill.

Eventually, though, common sense won out, and Booth backed quietly out of the room, knowing that shaking Brennan awake might not put her in the best frame of mind for forgiveness.

And, anyway, he still wasn't exactly sure what he could possibly say.

So, abandoning the milkshake on the counter, Booth returned to his abandoned nighttime coping mechanism.

He left the apartment to drive. To drive until he felt calmer, to drive until the monotony of empty roads finally dulled his ability to think.

As always, it took awhile.

~(B*B)~

When, for no apparent reason, Brennan woke up around three a.m., it was with the immediate realization that she was alone.

Brennan sat up with a start, something akin to panic gripping her. She barely stopped herself from instinctively calling out for Booth, and instead pulled herself out of bed and went to the living room.

She'd left the door cracked open, just like the previous night. There was no reason for Booth to assume she wanted him to sleep somewhere else.

But the couch was empty, and so was Parker's room.

Booth wasn't home yet. And Parker's game would have been over hours ago.

This only intensified her panic, and Brennan stood in the middle of the apartment, heart hammering, fears tripping over each other.

Her first thought was that he'd finally gotten angry, at her refusal to talk about what happened, her lack of reaction to his apologies, and left. Gone to her apartment, maybe, or stay with a friend…anything to get away from her for awhile.

On the heels of that fear came an even more terrifying possibility. She thought of Angela's car accident, how it had happened so quickly…from Brennan's apartment to the lab, a ten minute drive.

Brennan felt sick and lightheaded, and her mind was assaulted with unwanted worst case scenarios. She spent a panicked few moments trying to remember the last thing she said to Booth; but they'd barely spoken since yesterday.

And last night he'd come in and said he loved her…God, she'd pretended to be asleep.

Something like a sob rounded in Brennan's throat, and she felt dangerously close to losing it, the same way she'd felt last night just before she starting fighting Booth at the door, until another memory hit her.

Waking up, in the middle of the night, all those days after the anniversary of Vincent's death, to find Booth gone. Lying awake, waiting for him to sneak quietly back into the bedroom.

He'd never said where he'd gone; once he'd revealed his fears about being like Brodsky, nothing else had seemed as important. But this much she could ascertain from the evidence: Booth had been troubled, and it had driven him out of the apartment in the middle of the night.

That sort of scenario was certainly possible after the last few days.

So Brennan forced her irrational panic back, reassuring herself with logic. And she walked calmly back to the bedroom, burrowed herself under the covers, and waited for Booth, trying to ignore the fact that she was still trembling.

It was a long, restless twenty two minutes later that Brennan heard the apartment door open and close, followed by the familiar sound of Booth's footsteps.

In spite of her own reasoning and self-assurances, a powerful wave of relief went seeping through Brennan's body at the sound, the tears that had been knotted in her throat for the past twenty minutes rising and welling in her eyes. Closing her eyes against them, Brennan turned to her side, facing the wall, waiting for him to come in.

It didn't take long for the bedroom door to open completely, then shut, and for the next few minutes she could hear Booth moving around quietly, in and out of the bathroom.

To her utmost distaste, Brennan was dangerously close to crying, so she lay perfectly still, feigning sleep and silently scolding herself, _ Booth's here, he's fine, you're being ridiculous_.

Soon, the bed dipped slightly, and she felt the reassuring warmth that always came when Booth curled into bed beside her.

Brennan was quiet and still as she felt him bend over her, dropping a feather light kiss against her temple, but the touch sent the tears squeezing beneath her eyelids, leaving her glad for the darkness. Booth didn't withdraw right away, however; his forehead was barely touching her temple, and he lingered there for a moment, his own breathing ragged and unsteady. Brennan's throat ached with the effort of keeping silent.

Eventually, Booth rolled away, sinking onto his own side of the bed, their bodies close but not touching.

When she'd gotten a hold of herself, she attempted to maintain slow, even breaths to indicate sleep, but even she could hear the slightest tremor when she inhaled. Still, it was a full minute later that Booth spoke, quiet and uncertain, "Bones?"

That was all it took. "Where _were _you?" Brennan demanded harshly. In an instant she was sitting up, words spilling out with an intensity that contrasted completely with the few, dull words she'd spoken to him all day. "I woke up at three a.m, _eight hours_ after Parker's game started, incidentally, and you were _gone_."

"I'm sorry," Booth replied, looking startled by the sudden movement. "I came back and you were already asleep, so-"

"…so you just _left_?" Brennan's voice was shaking. "Knowing I could potentially wake up and have no evidence of where you might be? After what happened with Angela-"

Understanding settled on Booth's face, and he winced. "Oh. God, Bones, I…that was stupid, of me. I'm sorry."

She shook her head, sucking in a ragged breath. "I…I thought maybe…"

"I know, I know…" he murmured soothingly, sitting up and pulling her against him, relieved when she didn't resist. "I'm sorry…"

Brennan buried her face against Booth's shoulder, forgetting, just for a moment, why she was angry, why hearing his apologies over the last day made her wince. "I love you," she mumbled against his shirt, foolishly hung up on the fact that she didn't say it to him the previous night.

Booth whispered it back, of course he did, and his arms tightened around her. But after a moment, Brennan pulled back, her gaze finding his, and she said in a low, serious voice. "I love you. More than anything. But…of everyone in my life, everyone who's always been there…" Brennan paused, struggling to find the proper words. "There's you, and then there's Angela."

Booth's heart clenched, and he threaded his fingers with Brennan's, thumb stroking her knuckles comfortingly. He said nothing, though, sensing she needed to finish.

"And if I lost either one of you…" Brennan's voice caught, her face crumpling. For a moment, Brennan looked away, fighting the urge to sink against Booth again; she needed to say this. "She is my _best friend_. I need you to understand that-"

"I do," Booth assured her. "I really do, Bones, and I…I know there's nothing I can say. There's no excuse, I…I made the wrong call. And I know if it had been worse, for Angela, there's…there's no way you could have forgiven me. I know that."

"If you know, then _why _did you stop me?" Brennan asked, her voice cracking.

"I panicked. From the second I heard what happened…I was panicking, Bones." He looked at her, helpless and imploring. "It's not an excuse. But it was in the moment and I just…I can't stand the thought of you being in jail."

"There are worst things," Brennan stated quietly, "then prison."

The pained, completely honest way Brennan said this nearly did Booth in. He nodded, "Yeah. I guess so."

He kissed her then, slow and intense, feeling as though it had been much longer than a day since he'd done so.

After a moment, the kiss deepened, but Booth reluctantly drew away, knowing there was more he had to tell her. "I _am_ so incredibly sorry, Bones. I know I said that the whole time, but…it hurt me, so much, to do that to you, I just…I needed to believe that Ange was going to be fine. I was wrong. I know that, but I just…I need you to know that holding you back was one of the hardest things for me to do."

Brennan held his eyes and nodded. "Alright. It's okay."

Weak with relief, Booth kissed her again, softly, before stroking her hair gently and saying, "We should sleep, Bones. We've got to be up early for the thing with Sweets and Alex."

"Alright," Brennan agreed easily. This time, as they lay down, she curled against him, folding their bodies together, and Booth felt a tightness in his chest loosen for the first time since last night. "Love you," she murmured quietly.

"I love you, too, Bones" Booth replied, his voice thick with emotion. He wrapped an arm securely around her, his fingers resting against Brennan's shirt, at her midriff.

Immediately, Brennan flinched, instinctually drawing away from Booth's touch.

Booth tensed instantly, uncertainty immediately plaguing him. Had he misread Brennan's forgiveness?

In the next moment, though, Brennan shifted to her other side, pillowing her head against Booth's chest. Again he wrapped his arms around, his hand now resting against her back.

Brenna closed her eyes, drawing a steadying breath. For the first time all day, the weight of her anger had lifted, but it was quickly replaced by another weight, a burden just as persistent.

The weight of a secret.

~(B*B)~

An hour into the meeting with Sweets and Alex the next morning, everyone crammed in Sweets office was tense, frustrated, and had little to show for their efforts.

Booth and Alex were both combing through Sweets' files on Booth and Brennan over the last four years; the psychologist had protested heavily against Booth's viewing, but he'd been overruled by the need to figure out, what, exactly was motivating the subpoena.

After awhile, Brennan repeated, patiently and for the fifth or so time, "There's a flaw to this method. The prosecutor subpoenaed Sweets and the records at the same time. They had decided to make him testify before they even saw these."

Alex sighed, "You're right. But since none of you can think of anything else motivating them, we have nothing else to work with." She gave them all a pointed look; she'd asked plenty of questions that had spurned no jolts of memory.

"These aren't going to be helpful to them, anyway," Booth stated shortly. "But I could have told you that…we were always supposed to talk about our…partner interactions and all that. Not childhood trauma."

"It says here that Dr. Sweets was asked to evaluate you two again when you started dating." Alex raised her head from the file, looking at Booth. "Is it possible they want to use him to discredit your testimony?"

"I doubt it," Booth said instantly. "Sweets cleared us to continue working together, no problem."

Shaking her head, Alex shrugged, "Then I don't know where else to look. You all need to tell me…is there any information, outside of these files, that he would have had access to?"

Sweets' shoulders sagged; he was looking increasingly miserable and guilty as the meeting went on. "I _don't know_. I've been trying, but I can't think of anything he could have found out that is so hopeful to their case-"

"The book," Brennan said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at her. "He wouldn't have needed a warrant to access the book."

"What book are we talking about?" Alex asked.

"Sweets wrote a book about us," Booth stated flatly.

Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, Alex said dryly, "Do _all_ of you people write books on the side?"

Sweets was frowning, now, his expression unsure. "No, it was a psychological study, not…nothing like Brennan's books." He looked guiltily at Booth and Brennan. "But I don't think there's anything in there that could be used against Dr. Brennan."

To the psychologist's relief, Brennan agreed, "Neither do I. From what I recall, it's all emotional and psychological drivel about Booth and my dynamic. Nothing useful at all."

"Well, that's a little harsh," Sweet mumbled.

"It's still a psychological analysis of you," Alex pointed out. She pinned her gaze on Sweets. "Did you write _anything_ related to Dr. Brennan's childhood trauma?"

Feeling his face flush, Sweets looked at Brennan, speaking to her instead of Alex, "Well, I…there's some stuff in there about your parents…"

"I know, I read it," Brennan reminded him. When Sweets looked conflicted, Brennan sighed. "Go ahead, and tell her."

Nodding, Sweets finished, "It mentions her parents leaving, and the effect of their abandonment. The way trusting Booth and letting him in was such a big thing…" Cutting his eyes at Brennan, who was looking determinedly bored, Sweets hastily finished, "Anyway, it's all pretty general. And nothing about Sean Lowell…I'd never heard of him until he was killed."

"I read it, too," Booth said bluntly. "And it's nothing they aren't going to get out of any psychologist they send her to. I don't think anything Gold read in Sweets' book would justify putting him on the stand."

"Well, I'll need a copy of the book, anyway," Alex countered firmly. "Because right now it's the only thing we know of that could have given Chris Gold any information on you."

Silently, Sweets pulled a copy of his book from the shelf and handed it over to Alex.

"Great," she said, tucking it under her arm. "Now, is there anything else you can think of?" She swept her eyes around the room. "Any of you?"

Slowly, they shook their heads. Alex shrugged.

"Alright. Then I guess I'll look over _this_." She tapped the book under her arm, grabbing her briefcase, then met Sweets' eyes. "And if you're available tomorrow, we should go over my cross examination…as much as we can, anyway."

"Sure," Sweets agreed, and as he and Alex decided on a time to meet, Booth approached Brennan, resting his hand on the small of her back and saying in an undertone, "You alright?"

"Fine." She glanced over at the psychologist and the lawyer. "It's not the book, though, is it?"

"Doubt it," he agreed quietly. "To call a probably non-cooperative witness who's on _your_ side…yeah, he'd need something way bigger than anything Sweets wrote in that book."

"Right."

"But that's okay," Booth added quickly. "Whatever it is…it can't be that relevant." Brennan nodded, somewhat distractedly, and Booth changed the subject. "You want me to take you back?"

"_No_," Brennan replied too quickly. Off Booth's look, she hastily added, "It's irrational for you to drive me when you'll just have to turn around instantly to come back for work." Sliding her eyes toward her lawyer and attempting to sound casual, Brennan added, "I'll just ask Alex."

At the sound of her name, Alex turned away from Sweets, expectant. "Ask Alex what?"

"If you could give me a ride back to the apartment," Brennan stated flatly. "I rode here with Booth, but he's got to work, and obviously I have to return to the apartment to reactivate the monitor."

"Sure," Alex agreed easily. "That's not a problem."

"Thanks." Turning back to Booth, Brennan gave his hand a light squeeze. "I'll see you tonight, alright?"

He kissed her cheek, promising quietly, "I'll be home early."

"Okay. Bye, Sweets."

Sweets waved half-heartedly, still looking guilty, and Brennan half smiled at Booth before following Alex out of the psychologist's office.

Brennan was quiet as she followed her lawyer out to the car, glad that Alex wasn't the type to feel the need to force small talk.

They'd pulled out of the Hoover's parking lot by the time Alex spoke, casually offering, "You need anything while we're out?"

Cutting her eyes at Alex, surprised, Brennan commented, "Aren't we supposed to reactivate the ankle monitor as soon as possible?"

Alex shrugged, uncaring. "Sure, but that didn't take nearly as long as it could have."

Brennan offered her a tiny, grateful smile. "Thanks, but I'm fine." She paused, hesitant. Finally, Brennan closed her eyes, inhaling slowly, and forced herself to begin, "Actually, though, I do have…a technical question. About house arrest procedure."

When Brennan didn't immediately continue, Alex nodded slightly, prompting, "Sure, go ahead."

"I know…you can get permission to have the ankle monitor turned off during meetings or…psychological evaluations, or trips to court."

"Right…."

"So, if…hypothetically, there was a perfectly valid, but non-legal reason to leave the apartment…you could arrange that."

Alex slowed to a stop at a red light, then turned and stared very deliberately at Brennan. "Are you telling me something? Because that's the sort of questions I need specifics for."

Brennan stared fixedly forward, her gaze out the windshield, trying to remind herself that it was necessary to tell her lawyer before she could even tell Booth.

"You…you're bound by confidentiality, right?"

At that, Alex's eyebrows lifted, wariness in her expression. "I am…"

Finally, Brennan spoke in a flat, unaffected voice, "I'm pregnant. I…I can't let Booth know, not until after the trial but…Angela's insisting I don't delay seeing a doctor. So she's made me an appointment with her former OB, but obviously that would require leaving the apartment." For the first time, Brennan glanced over at Alex. "I assume medical care is something the judge would sanction?"

To her credit, Alex maintained an expression of only mild surprise, saying calmly, "That shouldn't be a problem. You said she actually scheduled an appointment…?"

"For Monday. At noon, I believe," Brennan answered, determinedly matching Alex's casual tone. "But that can be readjusted."

Alex shook her head. "It shouldn't be a problem, I just have to let the judge know tomorrow, before the weekend."

"Who will know?"

"The judge will be the only one to hear specifics…I have to get his approval, just a formality for things like this. The detective and the prosecutor are always informed when house arrest is temporarily suspended, but they won't have any specifics."

"Alright," Brennan agreed, biting her lip and looking away. "But no one else. Attorney client privilege, right?"

"Yes…" Alex answered slowly, hesitating. It wasn't her place to judge Brennan for keeping this secret from Booth; after all, it wasn't hard to see why this trial wasn't the time for joyous news. Still, Alex had to tell her, "But you should know…it wouldn't hurt us. At the trial. Some extra sympathy, yet another reason the jury won't want to see you in jail-"

"_No_," Brennan cut her off harshly then attended. "It…it can't come out in the trial. I don't care if it's…sympathetic, I won't let you use it."

"Alright," Alex replied, tone appeasing. "That's your call."

"Good," Brennan muttered, feeling irrationally panicked.

They had arrived at Booth's apartment building, and Alex pulled up the curb. "I'll call you tomorrow when I speak to the judge, just confirm everything." She paused, then added, "They may require me to go with you."

"That's fine," Brennan replied dully, uncaring. A part of her had hoped the request would be refused. "Thank you, for the ride."

As Brennan got out of the car, Alex, reading the worry on her face, added, "Listen…you don't have to worry. I won't say anything." She smiled slightly, "I'm a defense attorney. I'm good at keeping secrets."

"Well, and if you break attorney/client privilege you run the risk of being disbarred," Brennan added mildly.

Alex smirked. "Also a good motivator…Dr. Brennan?" Immediately, her smile softened, a kind of understanding seeping into her dark eyes. "Congratulations. Really."

~(B*B)~

Though she hadn't believed a single one of Angela's psychological assertions over her anger with Booth, Brennan _did_ find it more difficult to keep the pregnancy from Booth now that they were no longer fighting.

Ever since her conversation with Alex, as well as a subsequent phone call to Angela assuring her that Brennan had taken care of it, the baby was all Brennan could think about.

By the time Booth got home from work that night, she was nearly sick with worry, having had hours to do nothing but obsess over worst case scenarios.

She could be in prison. For the majority of her child's life.

For years, ever since she found out the truth about her parents and their disappearance, Brennan had struggled with blaming them, struggled to reconcile what they'd done. She could understand the logic behind their leaving to protect her, but that step was only necessary because they were criminals.

Now, though, Brennan could be convicted of a felony before her child was even born. Her parents, at least, had been there for fifteen years; Brennan could miss _everything_.

And that terrified her.

But then Booth came home, armed with takeout, and from the moment he slid onto the couch beside her, his eyes soft and warm as he kissed her hello, Brennan remembered all the reasons she'd done this for him.

And all the reasons she couldn't tell him yet.

Still, when she leaned against his shoulder on the couch, Brennan found herself biting her lip to keep herself from speaking. In that moment, she wanted to tell him so badly. She wanted to confess all the reasons the pregnancy terrified her, and she wanted to hear Booth tell her it was going to be alright.

But she couldn't. Because as soon as Booth found out, his tenuous acceptance of what she'd done would fall apart. He'd be in the detective's office as soon as possible, demanding immunity and telling the truth, confessing their secret.

So Brenan stayed quiet, keeping another secret held by necessity; though this one was only hers.

~(B*B)~

The next day, Friday, Parker arrived at the apartment after soccer practice to spend the weekend, and it was the most relaxed any of them had felt in awhile.

Parker's presence provided a constant distraction, which Brennan especially needed, particularly after the call from Alex confirming that Brennan's OB appointment had been sanctioned by the judge.

They spent Friday night watching movies Parker brought along, eating pizza and, later, popcorn. Parker kept a running commentary throughout the films, merely laughing when Brennan pointed out some flaw in the plotline's logic.

The three of them stayed up late and slept in on Saturday, waking up just before lunchtime. Booth made grilled cheese sandwiches while Brennan helped Parker set up his video game system on their television.

After lunch, Parker demanded that the three of them play Rock Band.

"What do you want to play, Bones?" Parker asked, gesturing at the different instruments. "There's two guitars and also the drum set…"

"You could always sing, Bones," Booth said teasingly, handing her the mic. "Better than Cyndi Lauper, right?"

Parker's eyes lit up at that. "Are you a good singer, Bones? Cause…" He dropped his voice and leaned toward Brennan. "Dad's kind of _not_."

"Hey, I heard that," Booth protested, giving his son a playful swat on the back of his head.

"You're right," Brennan mouthed at Parker behind Booth's back, making the boy giggle.

"I'll sing," Brennan agreed easily. "I've been told my voice is both technically skilled and aesthetically pleasing."

"Cool," Parker said, handing Brennan the plastic microphone before slinging the guitar strap over his own shoulder. "Dad, can you take the drums?"

"You know I can," Booth replied, flipping the drumsticks ostentatiously as he sat down on the couch, rather than the tiny plastic stool, and pulled the drum set toward him

"Oh, wait!" Brennan said, hurrying back to the bedroom. When she emerged, she was smiling, one of Booth's ties in her hands.

For a moment, he looked puzzled, but then Brennan knelt in front of him, carefully tying the tie around Booth's head, and a grin began to take over his face.

"Rock n roll fantasy camp, remember?"

"Yeah, Bones, I remember."

Parker's eyes lit up. "I want one!"

"Sure." Brennan disappeared again, and soon she was standing in front of Parker, carefully fitting a red tie around his blonde curls. Both of them were grinning, their eyes sparkling, and Booth's chest tightened, happiness swelling. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Brennan smile like that, and he reminded himself to thank Rebecca over and over again for this unscheduled weekend.

Soon, the three of them were "rocking out", laughing constantly as they worked their way through the list of songs. Brennan didn't know most of the songs, especially the recent ones, but she sang them as best she could, impressively.

Booth, though, who had a good bit of experience playing Rock Band with Parker, was doing much worse than usual. He kept taking his eyes off the screen, preferring to watch Brennan, reveling in the wide, uninhibited smile on her face.

They played the game the whole afternoon, but after awhile, Parker began to get visibly restless.

"Hey…" Brennan said casually, touching Parker's shoulder and looking from Booth to the boy. "If you two want to go the park for awhile…or maybe to the pool to swim, I can start dinner here."

Booth gave a small, grateful smile, then looked at his son, whose expression was uncertain. "What do you say, bud?"

Parker barely hesitated before shaking his head. "Nah, that's alright. I wanna stay here with Bones."

Brennan's entire face softened. She put an arm around Parker's shoulders and smiled clumsily at him. "Thanks, Parker," she said quietly.

She met Booth's eyes, warm and soft as he watched Parker and Brennan together, and suddenly Brennan's throat constricted.

Parker was an energetic ten year old boy who'd been cooped inside an apartment for over twenty-four hours, and yet he hadn't even hesitated in refusing a perfectly acceptable offer to go outside.

Parker's easy, natural kindness and compassion…that all came straight from his father, and Brennan loved both of them for it.

For a moment, Brennan's thoughts drifted to her pregnancy, the baby that would be coming, and she found herself hoping that this baby, too, would inherit those qualities from its father.

And she found herself feeling grateful that, no matter what, the baby would always have Booth.

As her eyes filled, Booth's soft smile faded slightly into a look of concern, and Brennan quickly shook her head dismissively, turning back to Parker. "You sure you aren't bored?"

Grinning, Parker told her, "No way. We can play some games and stuff after dinner. I brought Uno. And also Catchphrase."

"I don't know what that means."

"I can teach you after we eat." Parker flashed his teeth in an unmistakable charm smile, another thing he'd gotten from his dad. "And maybe we can have pie for dessert? Please?"

Brennan smiled. "Sounds like a good plan."

~(B*B)~

"Got anything for me?" Chris Gold demanded, looking from one assistant DA lackey to another.

There was just over a week until the Temperance Brennan trial began. His witnesses' testimonies were perfectly rehearsed, down to every pause and facial expression. He'd perfected a hell of an opening argument. He'd done adequate research on the defense witnesses, preparing as much as possible for his cross examinations.

He glanced from Jamie to Kyle, not expecting much this late in the game. Kyle, though, handed him a piece of paper. "You got a notice from the judge…Dr. Brennan's got a pass from house arrest Monday afternoon."

"Probably still reviewing the testimony with her lawyer," Chris muttered, setting the paper on the nearby desk.

"Not this time," Kyle countered. "Medical reasons."

At that, Chris snatched the notice back up, scanning in interest but finding no specifics.

"Is that useful?" Jamie asked uncertainly.

"Could be," Christ said neutrally. "Maybe we'll get lucky and she's seeing someone about a nervous breakdown." He glanced up, smiling dryly at Jamie. "You'll have to find out."

"How? We don't have enough to subpoena the medical records."

"No, but thanks to our handy ankle monitor system…" Chris tapped the notice, triumphant. "We know exactly when it's getting turned off." He passed the paper to Jamie. "Follow her. See what you can get me."

~(B*B)~

"You ready to go?"

Angela's face was soft under her still healing bruises, her eyebrows knitting together with concern as she watched Brennan.

"Yes," Brennan replied, barely audible. "But Alex is driving, the judge requires it…She says she'll just wait in the car, though."

"No problem," Angela answered. "Dr. Bano's doing her rounds at the hospital, and she said it's going to be totally quick, and totally discrete."

"Thank you."

Angela came a little further into the apartment, peering at Brennan's face, pale and drawn. "You okay?"

"Fine," she murmured. "I've…I've been nauseous all morning, but that's not atypical." Her eyes flitted away. "And I felt guilty…when Booth left this morning. Keeping all this from him…"

Angela hesitated, then asked carefully, "Bren, if you've changed your mind about telling him-"

"No," Brennan countered instantly. "I can't."

Before Angela could decide whether or not to question this, Brennan's phone buzzed, and her face tightened with dread.

"Come on," she said quietly. "Alex is here."

~(B*B)~

Jamie Dalton was not a fan of investigative work.

For the past two months, however, she'd become efficient at it. It was only her first year in the DA's office, which was why she'd been the one pulled off regular duties to become one of Chris Gold's assistants in the high publicized case.

She didn't mind, most of the time. This murder trial was a big deal, subject to national scrutiny, and having a connection to it would only help her career. Jamie could imagine herself, in the next few years, casually and importantly mentioning, "Yes, I worked second chair on the Temperance Brennan case." The statement was as good as accurate, anyway, and she could imagine the impressive effect it would have on much more experienced lawyers who had never had the luck to nab such a prominent case.

This morning, she'd tailed Dr. Brennan's defense attorney's car to the hospital, keeping at a distance as she watched the lawyer drop Dr. Brennan and her friend (Angela Montenegro, one of Alex's witnesses, and thus another subject of Chris Gold's research and investigation, who was looking a little worse for the wear) off at the hospital before going to park herself.

Jamie wondered, briefly, if just dropping her client off and waiting in the car was exactly in keeping with the spirit of the chaperone rule. But then, her own current stalking wasn't exactly morally sanctioned either.

Jamie parked, far away from Alex Bennett, and hurried to follow Dr. Brennan and Angela Montenegro into the hospital.

The room they went in was, luckily, close to a small nook with several chairs, a sort of mini waiting room. So Jamie, confident in her anonymity, sat there, flipping carelessly through a _People_ magazine as she tried to determine the best way to learn what, exactly, Dr. Brennan was here for. It was curious, actually, that her FBI boyfriend hadn't come with her.

After about ten minutes, though, Angela Montenegro emerged from the room, standing outside, apparently waiting for someone.

She had to wait about five minutes before a woman in scrubs approached the door and smiled at her in greeting.

"Angela," the doctor greeted her warmly. "How are you feeling?"

Jamie stood, staring down at her cell phone and pretending to dial as she moved slightly closer, barely in earshot.

"Oh, I'm all good," Angela replied dismissively. "Just waiting for all the evidence to fade."

The doctor smiled and then nodded toward the room. "Is Dr. Brennan ready?"

"Yes…I just wanted to remind you…she doesn't want an ultrasound or anything like that yet. Not…until the father can be here."

It was all Jamie could do not to react. She continued down the corridor past Angela and the doctor, not giving them a glance.

"No problem," the doctor replied, her tone understanding. "It may be too early for an ultrasound to give us much, anyway. I'll do some bloodwork to confirm, and then we'll just have a talk about pre-natal vitamins and other first trimester protocol."

"Thanks, Dr. Bano," Angela said gratefully.

The two of them disappeared back into the examination room, as Jamie slipped, unnoticed, out of the hospital.

~(B*B)~

"You aren't going to like it," Jamie told Chris bluntly.

He and Kyle both stared at her, expectantly. "What am I not going to like?"

Jamie arched an eyebrow, enjoying the moment of her reveal in spite of herself. "Dr. Brennan's pregnant."

With a low, quiet groan, Chris rolled his eyes to the ceiling, muttering, "Of _course_ she is."

Kyle pursed his lips, confused. "Why does that matter?"

"Be_cause_ the very _last_ thing the brave, crime solving, former abuse and rape victim _foster child_ needed was something to become _more_ sympathetic." Chris groaned again, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "God, Alex will probably pass out ultrasound pictures for the jury…she could be organizing an in court _baby shower_ for all we know."

"Actually, they weren't doing an ultrasound," Jamie informed him smugly. "Probably too early."

"Not the point," Chris muttered, annoyed. "This is perfect. I mean…technically, it doesn't make a difference in the case, but they're already predisposed to liking her, and no one wants to put a _mother_ in jail…"

Jamie and Kyle exchanged a glance, surprised by the strength of Chris' reaction to the news. "So…what do we do?" Kyle asked, tentatively.

Chris was quiet for a long time, his face set in concentration. Finally, he began speaking quietly, almost to himself. "They don't expect us to know…Alex will probably bring it up in Dr. Brennan's testimony, use the shock factor to get sympathy right before the verdict…" He clapped his hands together, definitive, then stared intently at Jamie and Kyle. "What _we_ are going to do…is figure out a way to use it to _our_ advantage first."

_A/N: So that's all for now. Hope to have the next chapter up soon...and it starts the trial portion of this fic, and I've been really excited to write those, so I'm hoping everything will start moving pretty quickly after this. Can't wait to hear your thoughts!_


	11. The Cave

_A/N:__ Hey, guys. I know it's been months…again. I never intended for that to happen, but I've had a really busy semester, writing wise. I've had a lot of scripts due for screenwriting gclass and for production class, on top of me trying to finish some individual projects for my writing portfolio since it's senior year. I finished "Walking By" first just because it was shorter. Anyway, this chapter starts a new phase of the story, and I didn't want to post it until I knew I could get more frequent updates._

_So from here on out, I'll be posting more often. The chapters will probably be shorter, but hopefully more frequent updates will be a fair trade for that. Chapter title this week is from Mumford and Sons._

Chapter Ten

_But I will hold on hope  
And I won't let you choke  
On the noose around your neck_

"Are you awake?"

Brennan was quiet for a moment before answering in a small voice, "Yes."

Immediately, Booth rolled onto his side, propping up on an elbow . Brennan lifted her gaze, and their eyes found each other in the darkness.

Booth half-smiled down at Brennan, the pad of his thumb tracing the length of her cheekbone. After a moment of quiet, he whispered, "Are you scared?"

"No," Brennan murmured resolutely, shaking her head a little to emphasize the point.

Booth read the truth in her eyes, but didn't contract her. He stayed quiet for awhile, then said softly, "I am."

"Me, too," Brennan admitted, her voice barely audible.

"Come here." He opened his arm, and Brennan gratefully nestled closer. "It's gonna be okay."

Brennan closed her eyes, whispering against his shoulder, "You aren't going to…do anything irrational, right?"

"No, Bones." His answer was immediate, because he knew it was what she needed to hear. Truthfully, though, Booth had been lying awake for the last hour, physically ill with the knowledge that this trial was actually happening, that he was actually letting her go through with this.

Maybe she heard the doubt in his voice, because Brennan's fingers slid into his. "It's going to be fine, Booth. We're ready."

"I know."

But the two of them lay awake and silent for the rest of the night, watching the clock count the hours to Brennan's trial.

~(B*B)~

"Almost ready, Bones?"

"Be right out, Booth."

The normalcy of their voices was too forced , the light, casual tone too note perfect.

Brennan surveyed herself in the bathroom mirror. She was wearing the suit she always wore to testify, though today the jacket hung loosely and ill fitted over her shoulders. She'd lost weight in the two months on house arrest.

Brennan's hand drifted to her stomach, and she thought idly that soon she'd have the opposite problem. For now, though, she looked almost unhealthy, her glassy, lidded eyes from a sleepless night merely adding to the almost sickly appearance.

Gritting her teeth, remembering Alex's statements on the importance of a first impression, Brennan leaned forward, reapplying makeup to more effectively disguise the dark circles under her eyes or the paleness of her cheeks.

"Bones?"

Finally, she opened the bathroom door and tried to smile. "Ready."

~(B*B)~

The parking lot was a sea of people; cameramen maneuvering to keep their reporters in sight, producers adjusting wires for their satellite feeds, photographers hidden behind intermittent flashes, curious onlookers merely shuffling for space.

Booth's eyes scanned the crowd from the car window. Beside him, he heard Brennan's breathing quicken, and he reached across the console and took her hand.

"We'll be quick," Booth told her firmly.

Brennan nodded wordlessly, her mouth set in a straight line, but for probably the first time in their lives she waited in the car until Booth came around and opened the door, immediately wrapping his arm around her as they walked purposefully forward.

Realization rippled through the crowd like a tidal wave, an audible buzz of awareness swelling as Brennan was spotted. Cameras swiveled, voices hurled questions, flashes blinded them.

As they neared the courthouse, the throng of journalists holding microphones or cameras converged on them, and Booth tightened his grip as he shouldered his way through the crowd, his badge out but useless.

Amid the cacophony of voices shouting questions, Brennan's ears seemed to hone in on the most personal phrases.

"…._killing your own rapist?"_

"…_.abuse in your foster home led to…."_

"…_by your parents' disappearance…"_

She closed her eyes against the flashbulbs, suddenly reminded of the nineteenth century belief of the Yao tribe in Africa that a photograph was damaging to the soul.

Brennan tucked her head against Booth's shoulder, trusting him to guide her up the stairs to the courthouse.

~(B*B)~

Inside the courtroom was only slightly calmer, as reporters jostled for a spot in the gallery. In the row behind the defense table, Booth, Angela, Hodgins, Sweets, and Cam formed a protective barrier between Brennan and the press.

Next to Brennan, Alex was still standing, organizing her notes and casting periodic glances at her client.

"Don't even look over at him," Alex told her at one point, catching Brennan staring avidly at Chris Gold and his lackeys behind the prosecution table. "Starting today, his job is to say awful things about you…the best thing you can do is just ignore him."

"Ignore him. Alright," Brennan repeated softly. She lowered her eyes to stare at the smooth solid wood of the defense table and squaring her shoulders, hoping that Booth and the others couldn't tell she was shaking.

Brennan didn't want to be nervous. She knew it would be several trial days, maybe longer, before she had to do anything more than sit and listen.

But she couldn't stop thinking about her father's trial, about visiting him in jail and desperately hoping he would be acquitted, against all truth and evidence. On the heels of that, she thought about her own child, how even Booth didn't know how much was currently at stake.

Suddenly Alex sat down beside her, scrutinizing Brennan's face. "Are you alright?" She asked in an undertone.

Brennan nodded, her throat suddenly too constricted to speak.

Alex patted her arm reassuringly. "It's going to be a rough couple days, alright? Just remember…once the prosecution puts on their show, it's our turn." Brennan nodded, still afraid to speak, and Alex cast a glance over her shoulder at Booth.

Reading concern in the lawyer's eyes, Booth leaned forward, reaching over the divide and lightly touching the back of Brennan's arm. "Bones?"

His voice, tender and heavy with concern, was enough to steady Brennan's breathing, to remind her why she was doing this, and why it was important to hold herself together.

Brennan blinked rapidly several times, then turned around, meeting Booth's eyes. "I'm fine," she told him quietly. Brennan glanced at her other friends, all watching her with concern, then returned her gaze to Booth's. "Really."

"All rise."

The voice didn't register with Brennan, and she and Booth both stayed seated, staring at each other, until Alex tugged gently on Brennan's arm.

She reluctantly stood, turning around to see the judge emerge from a side door, black robes flowing behind him. "The honorable Daniel Hayes presiding."

Hayes' eyes seemed to sweep the room, taking in the jury, the press, and finally looking from the defense table to the prosecution's. "Be seated," he stated, voice holding a kind of calm authority. "The prosecution," he stated, opening a file, "may begin."

~(B*B)~

Chris Gold was good. That was clear before the man even opened his mouth.

He strolled toward the jury box, taking his time, making eye contact with every man and woman seated there, establishing a connection to each one before he'd spoken a word. His eyes were warm and certain, gaze utterly trustworthy.

"My name is Christopher Gold, and I'm here representing the District of Colombia." He rested his hands on the railing in front of the jury box. "And I want to thank each one of you for taking on a very important job. For the duration of this trial, you are a crucial part of our justice system….the justice system our country is built upon."

Chris began pacing, leisurely, the length of the jury box, still constantly shifting eye contact with each juror. "The United States justice system is built on many crucial principles you're probably familiar with. Innocent until proven guilty. The right to a fair trial. The right to an impartial jury…like all of you.

"In our justice system, there are steps. We need cause for arrest, we need cause to arraign. We put a dependent through a trial, we let each side present their case. Then a group of people like you, the impartial jury, makes a decision based on the evidence. The jury returns the verdict…if that verdict is guilty, then a judge or, in some cases, another jury, determines the sentence. Then that sentence is served. That's the way our justice system works."

Chris turned, pining his gaze on Brennan, and pointed at her, "But on April 17, Dr. Temperance Brennan ignored that justice system. She decided she knew better than the justice system, and she took it upon herself to decide what punishment Sean Lowell deserved…and she murdered him."

Chris paused, letting that sink in. Finally, his eyes flicked the Alex. "The defense wants you to think Sean Lowell deserved to die…they're going to tell you that he was a bad man. They're going to tell you that, when Temperance Brennan was sixteen and living in Sean Lowell's house as his foster child…he abused and raped her."

At the defense table, Brennan closed her eyes.

"On that last count, they're absolutely correct. Sean Lowell was guilty of rape, and physical abuse, and neglect…that was determined by the justice system eighteen years ago. A jury just like you found Sean Lowell guilty of those crimes, and he was sentenced accordingly. He was in jail for eighteen years. He served his time, he paid his debt to society…yet Dr. Brennan decided that wasn't good enough."

For the first time, he moved away from the jury box, walking toward the defense table and fixing Brennan with a look of such ostentatious pity her stomach turned. "Her anger and resentment of Sean Lowell is certainly understandable. But the fact is, she decided she knew better than the justice system that has served this country for decades. The moment people begin ignoring the justice system and taking matters into their own hands…that's the moment civilized society begins to fall apart."

Smoothing his tie, Chris turned away from Brennan, eyes back on the jury, his true audience. "The defense wants you to believe that Dr. Brennan was afraid for her life. They want you to believe that she had no choice. But the facts of this case don't support that, and in fact there was no evidence to support the claim that Sean Lowell was stalking Temperance Brennan.

"Dr. Brennan's boyfriend, an FBI Agent, filed a police report on the supposed incidents of stalking, and you'll hear from the police officers who were told that the report was a formality they weren't to look into. You'll hear from those same officers, who conducted a search of Sean's apartment and found no evidence connecting him to the incidents. You'll hear from Sean's parole officer, who had no issues with Sean and was, in fact, kept in the dark about any suspicions. You'll hear from Sean's lawyer, who confirms that an arrest Agent Booth attempted on Sean Lowell was completely groundless "

Chris paused, and he looked over at Brennan again, that same frustrating pity. "Dr. Brennan has been trained in three types of martial arts. As a forensic anthropologist partnered with an FBI agent, she's had physical confrontations with criminals, and always been capable of defending herself. Yet the defense wants you to believe that when she willingly allowed Sean Lowell, unarmed, to enter her home…her only choice was to shoot him."

Chris came closer to the defense table. "Temperance Brennan….has two assault charges on her record. She was once arrested, by Agent Booth, in fact, for shooting an unarmed suspect in the leg." He looked back at the jury, raising an eyebrow. "This isn't the first instance in which Dr. Brennan has put herself outside the law and reacted violently. When you consider what Sean Lowell put her through at age sixteen…eight months of abuse and rape, when he was supposed to be the person responsible for her well-being…it's not hard to understand why _this _was the instance she took that tendency too far."

The courtroom was silent, "No one here is denying that what Sean Lowell did was horrifying. But it was not up to Temperance Brennan to decide that Sean Lowell deserved to die. And if you acquit her of that crime…" He paused, again meeting every juror's gaze, eyes blazing and deliberate. "…you are undermining the United States justice system. And if we allow her actions to go unpunished…where does that stop?"

~(B*B)~

Brennan felt strangely detached by the end of Chris' opening statement. As though he couldn't possibly be talking about _her_.

Booth kept making low, strangled noises in his throat throughout the speech, and she could hear Hodgins hissing sarcastically that Gold should have the National Anthem playing behind him during his speech about the justice system, but Brennan kept her eyes trained forward, never turning around to look at them.

Christ threw a glance over at them as he took his seat, the slightest smirk on his face. Alex arched an eyebrow at him, unbothered, the spark of a challenge in her eyes.

"Good speech. Mr. Gold did a good job, didn't he? He's certainly right about the importance of this justice system, and the job you all have been given." She smiled at the jury, then turned her gaze on Chris. "Unfortunately, he was right about only one other thing…that Sean Lowell was a very bad man."

Alex walked back to the defense table and put a hand on her client's shoulder. "When Dr. Temperance Brennan was sixteen…she was put in Sean Lowell's custody because she had no one else. But instead of taking care of her, Sean Lowell spent eight months systematically beating and raping her…and making Temperance feel like her life was in danger if she ever told."

Alex gave Brennan's shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze that was for her benefit rather than the audience, then walked toward the jury box again. "In the eighteen years since Sean Lowell did the unthinkable, Temperance has worked hard, on her own, to become the foremost forensic anthropologist in the country. She spends her life putting criminals in jail, bringing justice to victims…she spends her life upholding the justice system Mr. Gold is so fond of. She hasn't spent those eighteen years planning her revenge on Sean Lowell…all she wanted was to get past what he did to her.

"But Sean did his best to make sure he wouldn't forget. His obsessive fixation on Temperance didn't stop with his arrest. For all eighteen years he was in prison, he wrote letters to her. At least once a month, sometimes more frequent…every letter ended with the same signoff…._Can't wait until I'm seeing you again_.

"Four days after Sean Lowell's parole hearing and subsequent release…Dr. Brennan received a bouquet of flowers with a card, unsigned, but with the familiar message: _Can't wait until I'm seeing you again_." Alex paced in silence for a moment, watching the jury react. "Until that moment, Brennan had no idea Sean Lowell had been released…he had another two years on his original sentence, and was serving in an entirely different state. There's no obligation for the court to let victims know when a prisoner is released…so until the flowers and the message, Dr. Brennan had no idea.

"That delivery was four days after Sean Lowell's release…he arrived in DC three days after. Sean requested to be set up with a parole officer here in Washington, a place he had no prior connection to. He's on record as saying that it was because his wife, Annie, has lived here for the past ten years…yet no one has been able to contact her, or find a record of her residence. There's no evidence supporting the claim that Sean was reconciling with his wife…she hadn't visited or written him the last eight years of his prison sentence. Yet Sean immediately relocated to Washington DC…the place where he'd been writing Dr. Brennan for the last seven years."

Alex's eyes flicked to Chris Gold. "During this trial, we'll prove that in the weeks immediately following his release from prison, Sean Lowell immediately began pursuing Temperance Brennan, a continuation of his obsession eighteen years ago…an obsession that is well documented in his letters. Dr. Brennan received silent, frequent phone calls that were always traceable to phone booths. She received flowers and cards, always untraceable yet with Sean's familiar signoff. She received photographs and videotapes following her and her friends. We can prove that Sean Lowell began frequenting a diner near Brennan's work, a diner he knew she visited regularly….the same diner where he was arrested, holding a camera, while Dr. Brennan was inside."

"It's true that there was no conclusive _forensic_ proof tying Sean Lowell to the evidence. He'd gotten careful. Phone calls were untraceable, cards hand delivered and free of fingerprints, flower deliveries paid in cash with no name. Yet the incidents began as soon as a man with a well documented obsession was released from prison…anyone could draw the rational conclusion."

"Yet, Dr. Brennan understands the law better than most. There was nothing to hold Sean Lowell on, no evidence beyond the circumstantial and the common sense. Yet she had spent eight months at age sixteen, fearing for her life at the hands of Sean Lowell…and the moment he was a free man, that fear returned, with good reason.

"So Dr. Brennan took the only step of self-protection the legal system allowed…she filed a restraining order. A condition of Sean's parole forbid all contact with his victim, so the restraining order only emphasized that point."

Alex paused, coming to a stop in front of the jury box, the first time she'd been still the entire speech. "On April 17…three days after the restraining order was filed…Sean showed up at Dr. Brennan's apartment." The jury was hanging on her every word, drinking in the information that had been left out of Gold's opening statement. "It was a clear violation of his parole, and the restraining order…and Dr. Brennan knew that. She opened the door and let him, because keeping him in violation long enough to call the police might be the only way to hold Sean on something...grabbing Agent Booth's gun before she did, just in case.

"As soon as he was inside, Sean attacked her. As Mr. Gold pointed out, she is trained in martial arts, so Dr. Brennan fought him off. The forensic evidence proves a struggle took place, that Sean hit Dr. Brennan, just as he did when she was a teenager completely under his control…this time, though, she fought back. Yet he broke away, every time. So when he came toward her again…Dr. Brennan shot him."

This sentence seemed to hover in the courtroom, and Alex let it hover. "Chris Gold mentioned some of the crucial principles of the legal system. One he didn't point out, though, is the 'burden of proof'. That means that, for you to convict Dr. Brennan today, for you to reject the plea of self defense…you must believe, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she did _need_ to kill Sean Lowell in order to protect herself. We weren't there that night…which means that all we can do is look at the facts the evidence gives us.

"Fact: For weeks, someone was following and harassing Dr. Brennan, giving her every reason to be fearful for her well being. Fact: These incidences began days after Sean Lowell was released from prison. Fact: Sean Lowell broke his restraining order and violated the terms of his parole. The State wants you to believe that Sean was not stalking Dr. Brennan…yet they conveniently have no explanation for his arrival at her home late at night. Fact: He physically attacked Dr. Brennan, and she attempted to fight him off. The physical evidence proves that. Fact: When Dr. Brennan shot Sean, he was coming toward her again. Again, the physical evidence tells us that."

Alex surveyed the courtroom, and dropped the volume of her voice slightly; it didn't matter, the room was silent. "Fact. Sean Lowell was obsessed with Temperance, and for eight months when she was sixteen, that obsession meant constant abuse and terror. The only difference this time, was that Brennan was no longer a child at Sean's mercy…she was capable of protecting herself."

She narrowed her eyes at the jury, utterly serious. "That's not a crime, ladies and gentleman. That's a blessing."

~(B*B)~

_A/N: So. There's a chapter. Thanks for those who are still with me, I'd love to know what you think. Not a lot of plot development, maybe, but now that we're in the trial, the stakes are higher than ever, and things will start picking up._


End file.
